


The One True King

by SharaLunison



Series: Kings of Darkness [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, M/M, Pseudo Incest, Slytherin Harry, ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:08:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharaLunison/pseuds/SharaLunison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is James' younger brother, a jealous Slytherin who wants the Potter birthright for himself. He joins the one man who can make it happen, and willingly betrays his own blood in the process. (HP/LV) A twist on other-BWL/abusive Potter parents fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have fudged up the relationships between all characters. Some of the things I am going to do might cause you to perform a double take, but I hope you’ll enjoy them. As for this chapter, I have made Dorea and Charlus Potter James and Harry’s parents, rather than grandparents. According to the Black family tree, Dorea dies in 1977, and is born in 1920. As far as I’m concerned, Jo must have made a mistake in the dates there. There’s no way Dorea and Charlus’ son could be James’ father in 1960 and be “elderly” and die of old age/wizarding illness in 1977. Even if Dorea gave birth to him at the age of 16-18, he would only be 41 or 43 circa James’ parents’ date of death. It makes more sense for them to be his parents to begin with, given the dates we have been provided with. Especially given the “coincidence” that they all die around the same time.

**~We Are Born Like This~**

When Dorea Potter found out she was pregnant for the second time, it was as though she and Charlus had been blessed with another miracle. Little James, only nine months old now, was their little darling—their heir—and they spoiled him as only elderly pureblood parents could. 

Dorea hoped for a girl. A little angel to dress in frilly things. A little sister for James to dote on. Charlus wanted a girl as well—to marry off when she was old enough and secure an alliance for the Potter family. Dorea couldn’t fault him—she was a Black, and their marriage had been arranged in much the same way.

But a second pregnancy so soon after her first difficult one with James, and especially at her age, took its toll on her body. By her sixth month, Dorea was bed-ridden and under constant Healer supervision. Her body had grown gaunt from her inability to keep food down, while her stomach was distended with the still-growing child as it stole whatever nutrients her body could provide. Charlus begged her to abort, desperately afraid that he would lose them both in the end. But Dorea refused, determined to give birth to her baby girl—by then she was sure it was a girl—and that promise was what kept her going.

Finally, late on the night of the thirtieth of July, and more than a month before her due date, Dorea went into labor. After the first six hours, she lay white and limp on the bed. After twelve, she was rushed to Saint Mungo’s despite the family’s desire for a home birth. By the time nearly twenty-four hours had passed since she began labor, Dorea was barely conscious, both her own heart rate and that of the unborn child feeble and unsteady.

Only the intervention of a doctor who had studied the Muggle method of Cesarean births managed to save mother and child. In this way, Harry Henry Potter was born into the world.

His father would hate him because of Dorea’s health, which would never recover.

His mother would hate him, because he was not the girl she had dreamed of.

His brother would hate him, because his parents did.

And everyone else would hate him for what he would do to that family, and to the wizarding world.

  
**~Let’s Pretend We Never Met~**  


Harry watched from the compartment window as James said farewell to their mother and father. His eyes narrowed on the happy, familial scene and an unconscious sneer twisted his lips. None of them noticed that he was gone already. And none of them cared.

With practiced carelessness, he pushed away the twinge of pain that stabbed his heart at the thought that his family hated him. 

A gaggle of other second years gathered around James when he left Dorea and Charlus. Harry spotted the familiar face of Sirius Black and another boy with shaggy brown hair and gentle eyes, who must be Remus Lupin. A werewolf, if his brother’s diary was to be believed. Nearby, he spotted the startling red hair of another Gryffindor girl, staring at James and his friends in clear disapproval. That could only be the mudblood Lily Evans. James was rather disgustingly in love with the chit, though she was thankfully best friends with a Slytherin. There might be _some_ hope for her.

He studied the Slytherin students he could spot next. He was sure he was going to be in Slytherin. He certainly would not be a Gryffindor like his brother. Hufflepuff was for the loyal, which he was not. And he knew he was not interested enough in studying and learning to be a Ravenclaw.

But cunning. And ambition. Those, Harry certainly had in spades. He would enjoy his time in Slytherin. And he would become powerful enough to rival even the newly risen Dark Lord, Voldemort.

Because what Harry wanted, more than anything, was power. His family had tried their best to take what little power he had away. One day he would show them. And they would regret ever having pushed him away.

The compartment door opened, and Harry snapped his eyes away from the window to study the boy coming in. He was clearly a Black, having the high cheekbones and icy blue eyes of that line. And his uniform was not marked for a house, which meant he was a first year.

“Regulus Black?” Harry asked confidently. There were no other Blacks beginning Hogwarts this year.

Regulus nodded and motioned one hand towards the seats opposite Harry. “You must be Harry Potter. You look just like your brother. May I sit?”

Harry’s mouth tightened at the mention of his resemblance to James, but nodded. They were nearly identical, except for their eyes and James’ ridiculous glasses. James had the blue eyes of a Black, while Harry had somehow managed to get the pale green eyes that his great-grandmother Ursula Flint was said to have had.

Regulus, as Slytherin as the rest of his family, had noticed the slight grimace on Harry’s face. “You don’t like your brother?” he asked.

“The feeling is mutual,” Harry prevaricated drily. “We do well enough by ignoring each other.” _And then some_ , he thought.

“I don’t much like my brother, either,” Regulus admitted. “He’s like a badly trained dog. Always barking and getting into things you want left alone. It was nice last year, with him away at school all the time. Now I’ll have to get used to being around him all the time again.”

“You won’t be in the same house, at least,” Harry consoled him. “And Gryffindor and Slytherin don’t get along, so you probably won’t have to deal with him at all. That’s what I’m counting on, at least.”

“You think you’ll be in Slytherin?” Regulus asked, surprised.

Harry just raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

Regulus blushed a bit and looked away. “Sorry. It’s just, no Potter has ever been sorted outside of Gryffindor. It’s hard to imagine.”

“I found it hard to believe that Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor after James wrote home about it last year,” Harry said reasonably. “No family can have every child end up in the same house forever.”

Regulus nodded.

A comfortable silence descended on the compartment as the whistle sounded outside on the platform, warning any dawdling parents or students that the train was about to leave. The compartment door opened again quite suddenly, a short boy with slicked down brown hair and wild eyes dragging his trunk irritably through the opening. He was also a first year, no house designation anywhere on his impeccably neat uniform or tie.

He licked his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue, and shut the door behind him. “I don’t care if you don’t want company, I’m staying. Everywhere else is full up.”

Regulus moved over a couple of seats obligingly, and Harry studied the new boy in contemplation. He had a bit of the Black look to him, though it was clearly at least one or two generations back.

“What’s your name?” Harry asked bluntly. “I’m Harry Potter, and this is Regulus Black.”

The boy gave a formal bow, surprising for someone so young. “I’m Bartemius Crouch Jr. But please, call me Barty.” A pleading smile cracked through his proper pureblood façade. 

“Don’t bother bowing and scraping with us,” Regulus said drily. “Neither of us are the Heirs.”

Barty blinked several times, his tongue darting out to wet his lips again. “Right. Sorry. My father just insists that I greet everyone like this. Now that I’m finally out of that house, I’ll try to stop.”

Harry barely managed to stop his eyes from narrowing shrewdly. He didn’t want either boy to notice him speculating. Three boys in one compartment, none of them particularly happy with their families. He could use this.

Barty shoved his trunk into one corner and plopped down beside Regulus, not leaving an empty seat between them as might be expected. Regulus shifted uncomfortably, then settled as Barty pulled out a slim volume and began reading without another word.

“ _Ravenclaw_ ,” Regulus mouthed across the compartment at Harry.

Harry nodded with a slight smile. Good, someone who would be in a different house. Even better.

The train finally started to move out, and Harry returned to his view from the window. A few families were lingering on the platform to wave at the students, his parents not among them. The station blurred past, and within moments they were out into London itself. The steady clacking of the train wheels on the track lulled him into a daze. And without really intending to, he fell asleep.

  
**~It is Just the Beginning of the End~**   


He woke instantly at the touch on his shoulder, and looked up into the wide brown eyes of Barty Crouch Jr.

“We’re nearly there,” Barty whispered. “But there was some kind of fight in the aisle a moment ago. It sounded like your brother…”

Harry was up and on his feet in an instant, throwing open the door of the compartment. It was dim in the aisle, but he could see a second year Slytherin sitting slumped against one wall and nursing a split and bleeding lip. The boy looked up when the door opened, then visibly flinched when he caught sight of Harry, raising his wand in his right hand by reflex.

“I’m not my brother,” Harry snapped. “Get in here, and I’ll heal your lip.”

The boy hesitated, then seemed to spot Regulus and Barty hovering curiously behind Harry. He seemed startled for a moment, then gave Harry a considering look. 

Impatiently, Harry stepped away from the door and opened his arm in invitation to the half-empty compartment.

Finally, the boy levered himself off the floor and limped into the room. Clearly, Harry would have more than a split lip to tend to.

Unceremoniously, Harry shoved the Slytherin into an empty seat and drew his wand. He was rather proud of it—Ollivander said it was a brother to the Dark Lord’s wand. To Harry that meant he could be just as great if not greater than Voldemort.

Pointing the tip of his wand at the boy’s lip, Harry muttered, “ _Episkey_.” Instantly, dried blood flaked away and the wound closed into a mostly-healed pink line. “Where else did James get you? And what’s your name?” Harry asked, bending to examine the ankle the boy was limping on.

“Just the ankle. Twisted it when I fell the first time.”

Harry looked up at the boy through his lashes. The first time? He would see if the boy would accept help with his bruises after a night sleeping on them.

The boy flushed, taking the look as admonishment for not sharing his name. “Severus Snape. My mother was a Prince.”

Harry looked down at the ankle, determined not to react. Snape was not a pureblood name. It also didn’t belong to any other wizarding family he could think of. And the Prince line, while pure, was dead and gone now. Still, at least he was a halfblood. A slow wave of his wand and another spell mended the ankle for the most part. 

“That’ll be a bit tender for a few days,” Harry said. “I haven’t had much practice with sprains.”

“How did you learn to heal?” Snape asked, a hungry, almost desperate look entering his black eyes.

It was strange, Harry realized, that a second year Slytherin was speaking to him as though they were equals. “You’re not the only one James finds it fun to beat up,” he said instead.

“Will you teach me?” Snape asked greedily. He seemed to remember then that he was speaking to a first year, not even sorted into a house. And something of Harry’s resemblance to James must have sifted through his mind. “Never mind. I need to get going. We’ll arrive soon and I need something from my trunk before tonight.” He stood, stumbling a little on the hurt ankle, and stalked to the door. He paused long enough to say, “Nice to meet you, Potter, Black, Crouch,” and then left.

“He didn’t really meet us if we didn’t introduce ourselves,” Barty muttered, wetting his lips once more. It seemed to be a nervous habit of his.

“Whatever,” Regulus said, flopping back into his seat ungracefully. “What should we do until the train arrives?”

“I’m going to continue reading,” Barty said, snatching up his book once more. Harry managed to glimpse the cover this time and read the title as something like _Griselda Marchbanks’ Guide to Perfect NEWTs._

Shaking his head, Harry turned to Regulus. “What did you do while I was sleeping?”

Regulus shrugged. “Mostly just looked out the window and daydreamed. There was a witch who came by with a cart of snacks, so I bought a couple of cauldron cakes and ate them. I’ve still got a chocolate frog if you like.”

Harry shook his head and looked out the window himself. It was dark out now, the faintest glow of the setting sun shining over the horizon in the far distance. They were in the moors already, heather and gorse blooming in the still-hot weather.

A chime sounded through the train, and he cocked his head to the side, listening. “We’ll arrive at Hogwarts in ten minutes. Please don your robes and ensure your luggage is locked and secure. It will be taken to the castle for you.”

Barty put away his book in a pocket and opened his trunk in its vertical position, threatening to let the whole pile of books and other things inside topple out. He tugged a black robe free and deftly shoved the lid closed once more, snapping the latches securely. Harry didn’t comment when he spotted the corner of a cloak or another robe sticking out of one hinge.

Regulus hadn’t brought his trunk into the compartment with him. “Sirius put it in the compartment with his friends,” he admitted. “That’s how I knew you look like your brother, Harry.” From a pocket of his trousers, he pulled a shrunken robe that might have fit a doll. He deftly unshrunk it with his wand, a nearly white and thin length of ash, then brushed a neatening charm over it. Harry wondered how any of the mudblood students managed with not knowing any magic before Hogwarts.

Harry opened his own trunk where it was resting on the rack. His best robes were lying on top where he had left them, and he shook them out lightly before donning them. They had a permanent grooming charm built into the fabric, so he didn’t have to neaten them as Regulus had.

By the time they were all dressed and standing there, the train was slowing down. Opening the compartment door, they saw students piling into the aisle and pushing their way towards the exit. Quickly, the three first years joined the throng. 

The train slowed to a complete stop, and the doors opened. The students poured out, and in the press Harry was separated from his new friends. A booming voice drew him, calling out, “Firs’ years! Firs’ years, over here!” Following the voice, no matter how uncultured and _common_ it sounded, Harry soon founded himself at a small dock on the edge of a large lake. Dozens of tiny boats were moored to the dock, each mast holding a lantern. All of the other first years were gathering there for their first journey to the castle.

Harry remembered hearing all about the boats and the lake and the castle from James’ letters. His brother had tried to scare him, saying that every year someone drowned in the Black Lake, or there was someone the Sorting Hat couldn’t place. Harry, having had long experience with James, knew that all of it was a load of rubbish.

He still couldn’t see Regulus or Barty nearby. He recognized a few of the other children as belonging to this or that family. Most of the ones he knew would probably end up in Slytherin. But there was Rodger Robins, whose family was all Gryffindors. And Rupert Bones, who would undoubtedly end up in Hufflepuff. There was a dreamy-looking blonde boy who he thought might be a Lovegood, and no telling where he might end up.

“Harry!”

Turning, Harry spotted Regulus waving at him next to a nervous-looking Barty. They were standing beside one of the boats further from the giant of a man still calling all the “firs’ years” to come to the dock. A dark-haired and refined boy was standing with them, and Harry recognized Reginald “Reggie” Greengrass, one of the few Heirs he had been allowed to associate with as a child.

“Hello, Reggie,” Harry said as he approached. “How are you?”

“I’m doing well, Harry,” Reggie said with a grin. “What sort of pranks do you have planned for your dear older brother?”

Harry’s lips twitched. “Oh, you’ll see.” In truth, Harry didn’t have any pranks planned. But he did happen to know every single prank that James and Sirius had come up with over the summer, thanks to his regular reading of James’ diary. A word or a note to the right person, and…

“Is this everyone?” The giant man, dressed in a grotesque moleskin coat, held his lantern a little higher to cast the pool of light as far out as possible. “Right then, everyone in. Only four to a boat, now.”

Harry, Regulus, Barty, and Reggie all clambered into the boat they were standing next to, and untied the rope from the dock as the giant man directed them to. Soon, they were jetting across the glistening black surface of the lake, sticking close to the shore as they followed the outline of the coast.

And then suddenly, they rounded a slight bluff and there it was: Hogwarts. Hundreds of brightly lit windows shone yellow and warm down on them, reflecting off the lake and making the stars seem dim by comparison. 

Harry’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the castle in wonder. Home. This place was home for the next seven years.

Already, it felt more like a home than the one he had left only a few hours before.

  
**~If My Heart Was a House~**   


“Potter, Harry!” The stern-looking witch, the Head of Gryffindor if he recalled correctly, called his name and he stepped forward. Several whispers broke out around the room, many of them sounding surprised. Of course. Not many families even knew there was a second Potter son.

Sitting on the absurdly short stool, Harry allowed the Sorting Hat to be placed on his head. It sat there barely a second, just long enough for him to hear, _“Oh, my!”_ from whatever consciousness inhabited it, then a cry of “SLYTHERIN!” exploded across the room.

The Slytherin table clapped decorously, not cheering and hollering like the other houses—especially Gryffindor—were wont to do. Calmly, Harry removed the hat from his head and stood, making his way to his new table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the betrayed and hateful look on his brother’s face, as well as the shocked expressions on many of the other Gryffindors. James was surprised and disappointed in his Sorting? Preposterous.

Sitting down, Harry took the seat beside Regulus at the end of the table. Severus Snape was sitting near them, apparently the lowest rung among the second years, but not quite low enough for him to be forced to join the first years. Barty had been sorted into Ravenclaw, of course, though the hat had taken a curiously long time with him. 

Harry mostly ignored the rest of the sorting, only clapping when Rowle and Yaxley were sorted into Slytherin after him.

Before the feast could begin, the Headmaster stood and addressed them all in a kind and grandfatherly tone, although his hair was only starting to go white. “Welcome, welcome to another year at Hogwarts! Now that we’ve all been sorted properly, I have only a bit of housekeeping before we can eat.”

He warned them about the Forbidden Forest, about the list of banned items on Filch’s—the squib caretaker whom James loved to torment—door, and about the rules on curfew for every student who was not a prefect or head boy or girl.

And then, finally, they were allowed to eat. Feeling ravenous after missing the trolley witch on the train, Harry loaded his plate with all of his favorite foods and slowly ate his way through it all. He never forgot his table manners, no matter what. Father had made sure of that.

A series of gasps further down the table made him look around, and he was surprised and intrigued to see the Slytherin ghost, the Bloody Baron, drifting through the center of the table towards the first years.

Aside from the startled exclamations, no one seemed to be particularly surprised, so Harry assumed that this was a yearly ritual where the ghost of the house inspected the new students.

He waited until the Baron was looking at him before giving a small and proper bow from his sitting position. The ghost paused, staring, for several long moments. Harry didn’t flinch. Seemingly satisfied, the Bloody Baron bowed in return to him before continuing his appraisal of the others. There were five boys and three girls in their year, which seemed to be the same for the second years. In fact, there seemed to be more boys than girls in the entire house.

Aside from Regulus and Reggie, whom he knew, there were Yaxley, Bulstrode, and Davis who would share the boys’ dorm with him. And Dolohov, Mulciber, and Rowle were the only girls.

Yawning hugely, Harry suddenly felt completely exhausted despite his long nap on the train. It didn’t come a moment too soon when the Headmaster dismissed them, the Slytherin prefects rising to escort the first years to the dungeons.

Following along, Harry barely remembered to make note of the twists and turns, and paid close attention to the prefect’s instructions on how to remember which patch of wall opened into Slytherin.

She was a Black, he thought. One of Regulus’ many cousins.

Once in the common room, though, he stumbled through to the dorm on autopilot. The large square room held five beds staggered on either side. His was one of the two on the left, closest to the door. He only had the ability to notice that the other belonged to Regulus before he was changed into pajamas and under the covers, sound asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** I forgot to mention last chapter, but this fic is completely finished with ten chapters. I will post every Saturday. And thank you for all the wonderful reviews so far! I really appreciate it.

**~We Are Just Breakable Girls and Boys~**

By the end of his first week, Harry had learned two very important things. One, the Gryffindors were being groomed by Dumbledore for something. He had no idea what, but it was clear that the Headmaster had some purpose he intended to put them to. In particular, he seemed interested in those who displayed the most Gryffindor of behaviors: bravery, courage, determination and a certain disregard for the rules. James and Sirius were already a part of this group, and Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew seemed to have been pulled in by association. The other boy in their year, Frank Longbottom, was quiet and a little shy, but was also one of those whom Dumbledore watched most closely along with several of the upperclassmen.

The second thing Harry noticed, was that the Slytherins were being watched just as closely, if not more so than the Gryffindors. The reason for this was obvious—Dumbledore absolutely did not trust a single member of the snake house. All of them were clearly a single, terrible act away from becoming members of the Dark Lord’s army.

They were called Death Eaters. Harry thought the name was glorious. Eaters of Death. Death Eaters. To feast on the souls of the living and become stronger as a result. To live forever. He almost welcomed Dumbledore’s suspicions, as well as those of the rest of the school. He would have been proud to be a Death Eater. But Harry had bigger plans—serving another would not help him meet his goals.

Another thing happened at the end of the first week. James played his first prank, and on his favorite victim of Severus Snape. The boy’s nose was engorged to nearly twice its normal size and was constantly dripping snot on his robes. Snape refused to go to the hospital wing, of course, so he spent the entire weekend holed up in the dorm. Harry didn’t even learn of the incident until Sunday evening, and he immediately barged into the second years’ rooms and threw back the curtains on the only closed bed. Snape sat there, a battered book gripped in one hand and a rather wet and grimy handkerchief in the other.

“Would you like me to remove the hex?” Harry asked, ignoring the rather impressive glare Snape was giving him.

“No. Now go away,” Snape said nasally. He turned back to his book and Harry saw that it was a completely outdated copy of _Curses and Counter-curses_ by Vindictus Viridian.

“The counter isn’t in there. It’s a hex, not a curse. Unless of course you’re looking for a good spell to use as revenge on James. In which case, please carry on. Meanwhile, I’m going to heal your nose so you can actually attend classes tomorrow.”

Before Snape could object he raised his wand and tapped the offending piece of anatomy sharply while muttering the counter-spell. Snape’s teeth clicked shut on whatever he had meant to say, and his nose shrunk rapidly back to normal size.

“There,” Harry said. With a satisfied smile, he pocketed his wand and turned to leave Snape to whatever gloomy thoughts the boy wanted to indulge himself in.

“Thank you.”

Surprised, Harry glanced back over his shoulder. Snape had vanished the dirty handkerchief and was staring at him with the most peculiar expression. Almost…fond? No, that wasn’t the right emotion.

“It was nothing,” Harry said, waving a negligent hand. “If you insist on repaying me, I’m rather fond of Fizzing Whizbees.”

Snape stood from the bed and shrugged on his house-coat. “I don’t have much money,” he said slowly, “But I’m good at making spells. And potions. I can teach you one of my spells or tutor you.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose of their own accord. A second year halfblood who was ‘good at making spells’!? “What kind of spells?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Snape hesitated for a long moment, staring at him. When he finally spoke, his voice was different from the way Harry had normally heard him speak. His words were smooth, like silk. Each was chosen and laid down with clear precision. Harry felt his breath and heartbeat quicken in response. There was _power_ in that voice. More power than Snape had shown thus far. “For…enemies. Potter and his…friends. And perhaps for gaining allies, if that is what you wish.”

Harry’s eyes slid half-shut and he peered up at Snape through his lashes. “And if it is?”

“I will help you,” Snape whispered, “if you help me.”

“With James?” Harry asked, raising his eyes once more.

Snape nodded silently, then hesitated once more. His voice became needy and desperate, losing some of that silky quality. “And with Lily Evans.” His black eyes burned suddenly. “She is _mine_. She has always and will always be mine.”

“A mudblood!?” Harry exclaimed.

He had no time to react, no time to draw his wand. One moment they were standing beside Snape’s bed, and the next he was slammed against the wall with Snape’s hand clenched around his throat. 

“ _Do not use that word_!” Snape snarled, his ink-black wand coming up to press into Harry’s face just below his left eye. “Lily is twice the witch those pureblood sluts will ever be!” The tip of the wand grew hot enough to burn and Harry winced, trying to turn his head or pull away. Snape’s grip only tightened, and a searing pain began to build just under Harry’s eye.

Struggling to breathe, and desperate to stop the burning, Harry said the first thing that came to mind, “No matter…how good a…w-witch she is…still…a…MUDBLOOD!” The last word took all of his remaining breath and the world was beginning to fade out around the edges when Snape gave a wordless scream and slashed his wand across Harry’s face. Blood sprayed, and the second year released him in shock. Harry instinctively clutched his left eye, feeling the slick hot blood coating his hand almost immediately.

“I’m sorry!” Snape gasped. “I-I…”

Incongruously, Harry started to laugh. “Y-you idiot! All this over a bloody _girl_!?”

What he could see of Snape through one eye was quite a sight. The boy just gaped at him in shock, then sat heavily on the edge of the bed.

They stayed that way for several minutes, Harry laughing softly and Snape staring. Finally, when Harry had quieted to an occasional chuckle and the flow of blood had slowed to a trickle, Snape spoke. “Did I…did I blind you?”

Harry froze, not having considered that. He pulled his hand from the injured eye and slowly, painfully opened the torn eyelid. There was a film of red across his vision, but he could see. “I’m fine. Aside from the blood, anyway.”

“I should take you to the hospital wing,” Snape said, standing once more and then bending to help Harry up.

Harry laughed again, allowing his arm to be draped across the older boy’s shoulder. “So if you get injured yourself, you suffer in silence, but if someone else is hurt, you drag them to Madam Pomfrey?”

Snape turned his head slightly and Harry saw the first ever smile twist the boy’s lips. It was small, only the barest twitch, but it was there.

They walked through the crowded common room in silence, many of the other students looking at them in puzzlement or slight worry. Normally, no one in Slytherin got hurt unless a student from another house was responsible.

Snape led Harry right up to the infirmary doors before he spoke. “I only take someone to Madam Pomfrey if I like them.”

Harry stared at him in amazement. Snape simply opened the doors and shoved him onto the nearest unoccupied bed. Pomfrey appeared almost instantly and gasped at the sight of Harry, covered in blood.

“Mr. Potter! What happened?”

Snape twitched at the use of his surname, then hung his head in shame as he explained. “I got angry and lost control of my magic, Madam. Can you heal him? He says he can still see.”

“Well that’s something. What on earth were you thinking, Mr. Snape, hurting one of your friends so?” She poked and prodded around Harry’s eye with her fingers and wand, then cast a series of spells that he didn’t catch.

By the time the woman had left his field of vision and Harry could see Snape again, the boy was studiously looking at his shoes, a faint red tinge coloring his cheeks.

“It’ll leave a scar, I’m afraid,” Madam Pomfrey said regretfully. “The skin around the eyes is very difficult to heal cleanly.”

Harry just stared at Snape, not sure what to say.

A…friend? Harry had never had one before. Was this how one became friends with someone? By fighting?

  
**~And Thousands Upon Thousands Made an Ocean~**  


“What happened to your eye?”

Harry turned in the fourth floor corridor to consider his brother. James looked honestly curious, if disapproving, so he decided to give an honest answer.

“I got into a fight with Snape. Pomfrey couldn’t heal it completely.”

Rage suffused James’ face, and a tinge of red crept slowly up his cheeks and into his hairline. “Snape!” James snarled. “I’ll kill him!” And he turned to run off, apparently going to do so right that minute.

Wide-eyed, Harry wondered why that reaction hadn’t occurred to him. Knowing that Severus was still in the library where he had left him, he ran in the opposite direction as James, only slowing so that the librarian wouldn’t yell at him for disturbing the quiet of her domain.

“Severus!” he hissed when he reached the second year. “James learned about my eye. He’s on the rampage to kill you!”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Severus replied calmly, turning the page of his advanced potions book.

Harry gaped. “I’m not exaggerating! I saw him run off to find you with my own eyes!”

Severus sighed, closed the book with a snap, and finally raised his dark eyes to meet Harry’s wild gaze. “James is a second year. His ability to kill me is severely compromised by lack of knowledge and the necessity of his remaining a student at this school. The most he can do is hurt me. And that is nothing I haven’t felt before.”

Harry’s worry and fear drained away and he stared at his only friend with something akin to sadness piercing his heart. “What will you do?” he finally asked.

Severus gave him a nasty smile. “Get him before he can get me.”

“I’ll help you,” Harry said.

“Good.” Severus nodded. “We’ll wait in the hallway outside. Someone will probably tell him that I’ve been in here all day. He’ll walk straight past without even thinking that I could be waiting for him instead. With any luck Black will be with him and we can get them both.”

They quickly planned a series of curses to cast, with separate plans depending on if it was just James, or James and Sirius, or even all four of the so-called ‘Marauders’.

In the end it was just Potter and Black, and their decisive victory left the two Gryffindors hanging upside-down over the corridor wearing nothing but their shorts and tied so they were flush against each others’ front.

“Harry!” James exclaimed when he saw that it was his own brother who had helped Snape. The idiot actually looked _betrayed_ , of all things.

“Severus is my friend, James,” Harry told him softly. “From now on, if you mess with him, you have to deal with me as well.”

“Snivellus and the Hairball, a match made in heaven,” Sirius sneered.

Harry flinched at the name—James had been calling him that since he was old enough to talk.

“Maybe Snape’s grease will help your hair lay flat,” Sirius continued. He didn’t seem to notice that it was James who flinched this time. After all, James’ hair was just as wild and untamable as Harry’s.

Harry looked to Severus, ready to see what his friend would do now. Rather than trading his own insults or throwing any curses, Severus reached into his robes and pulled out a vial of bright pink liquid—some sort of potion, Harry was sure. The only question was whether Severus had invented it himself, or if he had followed or modified a recipe in his potions text.

A flick of Severus’ thumb removed the cork and he flung the liquid out of the vial and into the air. It landed in a wet line across James and Sirius where they were hanging, then instantly began to vaporize into a cloudy pink mist.

Smirking, Severus tossed aside the vial and clapped Harry on the shoulder to lead him away. “Have fun!” he called, as a last parting shot.

As they were leaving, Harry had the horrible experience of seeing his brother declare his love for Sirius Black, and the beginning of a very wet and nauseating snog.

By January, Harry and Severus were inseparable. Several things happened as a result. Harry, having never experienced friendship before, was amazed at the advantages he found in having someone he could trust with his secrets and ambitions. He and Severus had a great deal in common—a poor home life that they wished to escape, a desire for greatness and power, and an absolute hatred of James Potter.

Rather early on, Severus had decided that Harry could not continue being a Potter, not if he wanted to remain friends with the older boy. They had both adopted pseudonyms, of a sort. Severus was the Half-blood Prince, and Harry likewise adopted his mother’s maiden name and became Harry Potter-Black to much of Slytherin house. The other Blacks adopted him with open arms, especially his distant cousins, Andromeda and Narcissa. The pair could often be found in the common room late at night, referring to each other jokingly as ‘Prince’ and ‘Black’ as they bantered some point back and forth.

Friendship with Severus also meant that Harry regularly came into close proximity to Lily Evans. He had refrained from calling her a mudblood since that decisive fight with Severus, though it didn’t stop him from using the word on other muggleborns in the castle. The girl had _some_ merits. A talent for charms, for one. She was also apparently Snape’s lab partner in potions, and they always had the best marks on Slughorn’s exams. But aside from a sharp mind, the girl also apparently held a great dislike for James Potter as well. Harry was delighted on their first meeting when she called James a “puffed-up peacock of a lummox who deserves more than a simple taste of his own medicine”. They were not friends, by any means, but they tolerated each other. For Severus.

A great deal of the dynamics in Slytherin house shifted as a result of their friendship as well. No longer was Snape the merest step above a first year student. A great number of the boys in his year and above had adopted him in one way or another, as well as Harry. Regulus joined them, as well as Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange who were in Severus’ year. A fifth year named Evan Rosier was a part of their circle, as well as Lucius Malfoy in his sixth year. There were others, but those were the ones Harry spoke to most often. Malfoy was the oldest, and seemed to have the most authority over the group. 

A few girls played hangers-on to the older boys. Malfoy could hardly leave the room without Narcissa Black taking his arm to walk with him. Then again, they were already engaged with a wedding planned for just after Narcissa’s graduation. She was only in her fifth year—Harry thought that planning a wedding so far in advance was a foolish idea, considering the engagement could be cancelled at any moment. But then he actually saw Malfoy and Narcissa interact and he realized it was a love match.

The other Black sister, Andromeda, seemed to disapprove of their group for some reason. It wasn’t until very late in his first year that Harry found out why.

At the end of the Easter break, those students who had chosen to go home for the holiday were returning to the school late in the afternoon. Among them were Slytherin students Lucius Malfoy, Tarquin Nott, Jadrian Wilkes, Antioch Dolohov, Thorfinn Rowle, and Kent Jugson. Three sixth years and three seventh years. All of them had a tightness around their eyes; and blue, brown, or grey there was something new in their gazes that hadn’t been there before.

Harry had never killed anyone, but he knew that look.

All six of these students could also be seen—though only in the privacy of Slytherin—rubbing their left forearms as though a deep-seated ache had settled there and wouldn’t leave them be.

Harry wished he had James’ invisibility cloak, so he could sneak into the upper years’ dorms and see if what he suspected was true. Those six—who had left boys and returned as men in his eyes—had taken the Dark Mark. He longed to see it for himself, to study the magic that had created it. To feel the Dark Lord’s power for himself. It made him quiver with a longing he could not explain.

Severus noticed, of course. He had a remarkable ability to see things that other people wanted to stay hidden. And Harry had stopped trying to hide anything from the older boy once it became obvious the attempt was futile and would only result in Severus becoming angry with him.

“Whatever is the matter with you?” Severus finally asked. “You’ve been shaking like a leaf since the end of Easter break. If I didn’t know better I would say you were afraid.”

Harry turned wide green eyes on his best friend. “Not afraid,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse and passionate. “I am… _longing_. Malfoy and the others, they must have taken _his_ Mark over the break. I want to _see it_ , Sev. I want to _touch it_. I _need_ to.”

Severus gave him a considering look, then leaned back in his chair in the common room, fingers steepled as his elbows rested on either arm of the chair. “Have you ever cast a dark spell, Harry?”

Harry blinked, surprised. “No, I haven’t. Father would have a fit if he caught me even just reading about them. And all of the books on dark magic in the library here are in the restricted section. Why?”

“I think you are being drawn to the darkness of the magic in their Marks. I can feel it, but it does not call to me as it does to you. Perhaps because I have already dabbled—more than a little, I admit.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry asked, eagerness lighting his eyes. “Do you have books of your own? Or did you trick Slughorn into giving you a pass for the library? Or…”

“Calm down, Harry,” Severus laughed. “I don’t have any books, and I didn’t get a pass for the restricted section. It’s much simpler. Some of the older students here, Malfoy and Nott in particular, are from pureblood families with quite the collection of dark tomes. I simply asked, and they let me borrow one or two. Studying on your own is difficult. I’m sure they’d teach us if we asked.”

Harry was speechless. He had known, of course, that many of the older Slytherins were Dark wizards. The six he suspected of joining Voldemort in particular. It simply hadn’t occurred to him to learn himself or to ask for help in learning.

Without a word, Harry stood and approached the area of the common room where those six had taken to gathering. Numerous younger students had ensconced themselves in the circle so they could listen to whatever topic was being discussed. He and Severus had participated in several, and they ranged from school subjects to politics and everywhere in between.

Malfoy was expounding on the subject of illegal spells at that moment, as it happened. Harry joined them and listened in rapt fascination to what was being said.

“But the ministry has classified those spells as illegal because they’re dark magic!” Reggie Greengrass was objecting. “It doesn’t matter if it’s an Unforgivable or just a household cleaning charm—dark magic has been banned.”

Malfoy nodded agreeably, then said, “But why is all dark magic banned? Why ban a charm that cleans and mends moth-eaten curtains, and not the cutting curse, which could easily kill another person? Why is dark worse than the light?”

No one there had an answer for that, though the six Death Eaters traded knowing looks.

“It’s because of the way dark magic makes you feel,” Malfoy murmured into the silence. All of the younger students looked at him in surprise. “Yes.” He nodded and looked at each of them in turn. “It is addictive. More powerful. It makes adrenaline surge through your veins. Makes you more aware of the world and yourself. So when you stop casting, the real world around you seems dead by comparison. None of you have ever cast a dark spell before, so you wouldn’t know that. Dark magic makes life worth living. And dark magic makes it impossible for you to live without it.”

Harry stifled a moan at the back of his throat. The dark energy he felt from Malfoy’s mark had spiked during this speech, as though pleased. It was heady and thick, smoky and smooth. It called to him. His hands shook with the effort of not grabbing the man and wrenching aside his sleeve so he could soak up that power.

Dark magic was more powerful? He _had_ to learn. He _needed_ to.

Without realizing it, he fell to his knees in front of Malfoy, who looked down at him calmly, not a trace of surprise on his handsome face. “Please,” Harry begged, “teach me!”

“I—we,” Malfoy motioned to the other five, who stood, “will teach anyone who wishes to learn.”

Harry bowed his head, surprised to feel tears of relief and joy pricking his eyes. He could learn. He _would_ learn.

**~Believe You Can Shine When You’re Silver~**

The first time Harry ever cast a dark spell was on the night of September second, at the beginning of his second year at Hogwarts. It was a small thing; a charm that could give small objects wings until dispelled. 

To say he was disappointed would be an understatement. It was dark, and he could feel the power of the spell, the addictive energy of it. But it was so very insignificant compared to what he felt from the dark mark. Malfoy and the others claimed that life became dull after one cast their first dark spell. For Harry, that had happened the moment the upper years returned from Easter break the year before.

In the face of his disappointment, he threw caution to the winds and approached Malfoy after the lesson.

The older man, now a seventh year and Head Boy, was too busy to sit in on many of the lessons. He was putting away the books and other things he had brought for teaching the handful of Slytherins who had expressed an interest in the dark arts.

“Malfoy,” Harry said hesitantly.

Piercing grey eyes looked at him in speculation for a moment before the man returned to packing his things. “What is it, Black?” Everyone in the study group called him Black, now. They all agreed that he was more a Black than a Potter in any case. Things could get somewhat confusing when Regulus attended at the same time, but no one felt comfortable enough to use first names yet.

“May I see it?” Harry whispered.

This time, those grey eyes didn’t leave his face at all. Harry stared back, unable to stop his need and desperation from showing on his face. Slowly, Malfoy nodded. “When the others have left.”

They stood there, eyes hardly leaving the other as the unused classroom they used for these lessons slowly emptied.

When Severus finally left, having caught Harry’s eye and understood what was happening, Malfoy shot a rather strong locking charm at the door and immediately began rolling up the left sleeve of his white uniform shirt.

“You were the first,” Malfoy murmured as he slowly exposed the Dark Mark. “The first to kneel. The first to ask. The first to succeed. You must have been feeling this very strongly.”

At last, at long last, the black elegance of the skull and snake was revealed to Harry’s eyes. He soaked it in for a long moment before asking. “Can I touch it?”

Malfoy’s lips quirked in a half-smile, though Harry could not see it for the Dark Mark. “Go ahead.”

At once, Harry reached out his hand to stroke along the raised skin. The dark magic sang at his touch. Gasping, he clutched Malfoy’s arm with both hands and traced the outline of the mark over and over with his fingers. _This_ is what he had wanted, needed. The sheer power contained in that small expanse of skin astounded him. And the Dark Lord marked all of his followers like this?

At the back of his mind, Harry began to reevaluate his plans.

“What is he like?” Harry asked at last, still caressing the mark with careful touches.

Malfoy’s voice was filled with reverence. “He is…everything you can imagine and more. I would die for him. I have killed for him. I would commit a thousand terrible crimes and commit my soul to Hell if he but asked it. When you feel his power, Black, you cannot help but want to serve him.”

Harry nodded. He could feel the power, the merest echo of it, through the mark.

Those plans at the back of his mind spiked and settled on a new result.

Looking up at Malfoy through his lashes, the vertical scar through his left eye making Lucius shiver, Harry said, “I will join him.”

Nodding, Malfoy carefully extracted his arm. “He will mark you when you are sixteen. I will arrange a meeting.”

“Thank you…Lucius.”

Startled, Malfoy gaped slightly before a small smile appeared on his face. “The pleasure is mine…Harry.”


	3. Chapter 3

**~If You’re Alone in This Awful Downpour~**

The first time that Harry met Lord Voldemort was during Christmas of his second year. Lucius had invited him to the Malfoy Christmas ball, and Harry was informed the day before the event that the Dark Lord would be making an appearance in one of the private salons.

The man couldn’t very well appear in the ballroom itself—there were too many Ministry personnel who would be present there.

Harry couldn’t sleep the night before the party. He tossed and turned in his bed in the guest room of the east wing. Daydreams winked through his thoughts—dreams of meeting the Dark Lord, of becoming his favorite, of earning some favor. Dreams of the Dark Lord taking him as an apprentice, teaching him the true secrets of the dark arts. When at last he fell into restless sleep, the dreams followed him. He dreamed of the Dark Lord touching him, and the dark magic sang along his nerves, calling to him. Whispering his name. _Harry…Harry…_

“Harry!” 

A hand was shaking his shoulder, and Harry blinked open sleepy emerald eyes to see Lucius leaning over him with a frantic look on his face.

“Good, you’re awake. It’s mid-afternoon, Harry! You need to get ready before the guests start arriving.”

Harry sat bolt upright and looked out the window. The sun was already midway through its descent. “I overslept! Why didn’t one of the house elves wake me?”

Lucius sighed in exasperation. “They said something about you being up all night, and refused to wake you themselves. I haven’t had a minute to come wake you myself until now. And I have to run. You can dress yourself, I assume?”

Harry glared up into Lucius’ mocking silver eyes, and swung his legs out of the bed after throwing off the covers.

Lucius became very still and quiet, and Harry looked up curiously.

“Did you have a good dream?” Lucius teased. His eyes had darkened to a stormy gray color.

Blushing, Harry looked down and realized that he was sporting an erection. Hastily, he pulled the covers closer and hunched into a ball.

“It’s all right, Harry,” Lucius said softly. “It’s normal for that to start happening at your age. What were you dreaming about?”

Harry kept his eyes down, his face flaming even more. “The Dark Lord,” he whispered.

Lucius breathed in sharply, and turned away.

“He is not a nice man, Harry,” Lucius whispered back. “There is nothing soft or gentle about him.”

Harry relaxed slightly and looked up at his friend’s back. “Why are you telling me that?”

From where he was sitting, Harry could only see Lucius close his eyes and his shoulders slump. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I care about you, Harry.”

For a moment, Harry didn’t know what to say. “Thank you,” he finally whispered.

Lucius turned around again, giving him a tremulous smile. “Come to me if you ever need help figuring out your body. I know you can’t approach your own father. I would like to help you if I can.”

Harry gave him a gentle smile and shooed the older boy away with his hand. “I will. Now go back to your party planning. I know you’re still busy.”

Lucius nodded, bowed slightly, and swept out the door.

With a heavy sigh, Harry pulled back the blankets and looked down at his still-hard erection. Being in the presence of Lucius’ dark mark certainly hadn’t helped to abate the problem any. What was he going to do if he got hard every time he was around dark magic? Or was it just the Dark Lord’s magic?

Standing, he went into the loo to take a shower before getting dressed for the party. With luck, he might be able to tame his hair.

And while he was in there, maybe he could try that thing called masturbation that the older Slytherins whispered about when they thought no one was listening.

**~I Wish I Knew What You Were Looking For~**

As Harry stepped closer to the salon doors, he had to bite back a moan. The room _pulsed_ with the power of dark magic. The flimsy walls and paint and wooden doors could not contain it.

When he stepped inside, he _did_ moan. The feel of the Dark Lord’s power flickered along his nerve endings. It slid across his skin in a cold caress. It made him feel _alive._

“What’s this?” A silky slither of a voice made its way across the room toward Harry. “A little lamb has gotten lost on his way.”

Harry looked up with hooded green eyes to gaze into startling slit-pupiled red. “My lord,” he gasped, falling to his knees at once and lowering his eyes.

“Perhaps not so little a lamb, after all.” Voldemort sounded amused. Harry swallowed a giddy laugh, inordinately pleased to have amused the Dark Lord. 

The dark magic swirled around him, closer and closer, squeezing him tight. Just when he thought he might burst from the pressure, a hand entered his vision, and skeletal, white fingers gently grasped his chin to make him look up.

“Such eyes,” Voldemort whispered, one long finger stroking Harry’s cheek.

Harry studied the man before him. The Dark Lord’s face was almost waxy in appearance, as though the skin might melt and drip away at any moment. His jet-black hair was thin, and his nose seemed absurdly small for his face. What little lip the man had was completely without color.

What was wrong with him? Surely he wasn’t dying? Was this what dark magic did when you steeped yourself in it as deeply as the Dark Lord? _No,_ Harry thought, _surely he wouldn’t allow it to change him so._

Yet the only beautiful thing he could find in Voldemort’s face were his eyes. Shining crimson, like rubies. They glowed with health and life and power.

The Dark Lord gave a slight smile, and spoke at last. “You find my features disgusting.”

There were gasps around the room. Harry didn’t bother to turn his head away from the Dark Lord’s eyes. He knew no feature of his own face had betrayed him. Which meant a different kind of magic was at play.

“Legilimency…” he whispered, and Voldemort’s nearly hairless eyebrows rose in surprise even while a delighted smile transformed his face.

“You are quite an interesting lamb, young Harry Potter,” Voldemort whispered, for Harry’s ears alone. “But this is not a safe place for lambs. Run along now.”

The hand left his face and Harry calmly rose from his kneeling position, bowed as low and as gracefully as he could, then left the room.

Outside, he leaned against the wall and gasped for breath. Voldemort had touched him. Touched _him_. He could still feel those cold fingers on his face. The long index finger stroking his cheek.

But he still wondered—why had Voldemort allowed the magic to change him so? Surely he was powerful enough to stop it?

**~I’m Just a Normal Boy~**

In his third year, Harry cast his first Unforgiveable curse. It was the most benign of them, in his opinion. But the rush of dark magic that coursed along his skin was like nothing he had felt before that moment.

His victim was Peter Pettigrew. For a Gryffindor, the boy was incredibly spineless. Harry thought he would have made a better Slytherin. Severus disagreed, thinking Hufflepuff would be more suitable.

But what Harry learned about Peter that night convinced him that the cowardly boy would never have made it into the house of the loyal.

“ _Imperio!_ ” Harry whispered joyfully in the dark corridor. His target stiffened, stopping in place at once as he took control of the boy’s mind.

His instructions were simple, “ _Spy on James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black. Report back to me everything of importance._ ”

He didn’t know then that he had provided Peter with a loophole that would allow him to report only the things that _Peter_ found important, should the boy have any capability of resisting the curse. But it hardly mattered.

When Peter returned to share his findings with Harry and Severus, they learned of six new pranks that the Marauders had in the works, one ambush planned on them for the following day, and a secret plan for Peter, Sirius, and James to become illegal animagi so they could accompany Remus on the full moons in relative safety.

By then, the thin thread of dark magic that connected Harry to Peter had wreaked havoc on Harry’s body. He was a jittery, shaking mess from the constant influx of his chosen drug. Lucius had noticed earlier in the afternoon, and warned him how dangerous such a condition could be—often resulting in death if the wizard in question was not yet accustomed to the levels of dark magic.

So, after Peter had reported, Harry released the older boy from the curse, and allowed Severus to take over and ensure that the Gryffindor didn’t tattle on them.

But quite a different thing happened.

“P-please! D-don’t h-hurt me! I won’t tell a living soul! I swear it on my magic!” Peter cowered against the far wall of the classroom where they had met. At his words, a soft flash of magic blinded them all and settled around Peter’s wrist like a line of silver glitter before fading away.

Severus lowered his ready wand and sneered at the other boy. “Coward,” he spat.

As one, Harry and Severus turned to go.

“W-wait!” Peter called them back.

Harry looked over his shoulder and saw that Peter had one hand outstretched toward them, as though they were his last salvation. “What do you want now?”

“I-I c-can be useful to you!” Peter cried. “Y-you want to k-know what my friends are going to do b-before they do it?”

They turned around and faced the sniveling fourth year together. Peter looked nervous, wringing his hands, but not very afraid considering what he was offering to them.

“What do you want in return?” Severus finally asked. Surely no one was fool enough to offer something without wanting something in return.

“P-protection!” Peter cried, looking at the door fearfully as though his friends might come tumbling inside at any moment. “I’ll spy on a-anyone you like, if you promise I’ll be s-safe from the D-d-dark L-lord.”

Harry stiffened. “What makes you think we can promise that?”

“Y-you’re Slytherins…” Peter trailed off, as though that explained everything.

To a Gryffindor, perhaps it did.

Harry looked at Severus and nodded. His friend nodded in return. 

“We’ll see what we can do,” Severus answered for them both. “In the meantime, just report to us about the other Marauders.”

Peter started, as though surprised that they knew that name.

“Run along, little Peter,” Harry whispered dangerously.

Like the rat he was, Peter Pettigrew scampered from the room as fast as he could.

“We’ll need to contact Lucius,” Severus said then.

Harry nodded and followed his best friend back to the Slytherin dungeons.

**~And Still I’m Searching For Something~**

“You should confess this year,” Harry told Severus just before Christmas in his fourth year.

“I can’t,” Severus said at once. “She only thinks of me as her friend, still. And Potter keeps poking about whenever I try to spend any time alone with her.”

Harry frowned, wondering why his friend was still running. “Well, you should. That’s all I’m saying.”

Severus nodded, then leaned in closer to say, “How is yours coming?”

Harry understood what he meant at once—ever since Peter had revealed the Marauder’s attempts to become animagi, they had been studying the transformation as well. They were quite a bit behind their enemies, starting so late, but they had both managed a partial transfiguration after a year of intense study.

“I’m something with black hair,” Harry whispered. “And _big_.”

Severus snorted. “Black feathers. I’m leaning towards either crow or raven, but the differences are so subtle I’m having some trouble.”

“Let me help next time,” Harry offered. “I might notice something that you can’t while partially transformed.”

Severus nodded and went back to the essay he had been writing. It was his OWLS year, and they hadn’t been able to spend as much time together as Harry was used to.

Sighing, Harry closed the book he had been flipping through and stood, stretching for a long moment.

“Why don’t you go see if the Knights are learning anything interesting?” Severus murmured distractedly, flipping through his potions book to check some fact.

Harry nodded and crossed the common room to the passage wall. There was a classroom nearby that the group of dark arts students used to practice. Lucius had given them a name the year he graduated, saying that the Dark Lord himself had suggested it. From then on, they used the term ‘Knights of Walpurgis’ when discussing meetings where they might be overheard.

Entering the room, Harry gasped at the strong feeling of dark magic in the air. He was beyond the level of most of the current students already, but he still popped in occasionally when they were teaching something he hadn’t learned yet. Looking around, he realized that they must be studying the various dark cuttings curses—the kind that couldn’t be clotted or healed with a simple spell, but required specific potions and chants.

The only really interesting thing in the room, were the students. He was used to seeing Regulus there, but now Barty Crouch Jr. had joined as well. That was surprising, given that Barty’s father was looking quite popular for the next Ministerial election.

Even better, Barty had a veritable cloud of dark magic lingering around him as he panted with breath. The practice dummy across the floor from him was hanging in tatters from the strength of his spells.

Harry approached the other boy, and had to bite his lip when he entered that cloud of magic. It was strong—stronger than anyone else’s he had felt among the Knights except those who already bore the dark mark.

“Barty!” Harry cried, grinning with one hand outstretched.

Barty jumped, spun around and pointed his wand at Harry, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in the same moment. “H-Harry?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Harry smiled, lowering the hand that Barty hadn’t shaken. “I know it’s been a long time—I haven’t had the chance to speak to you since the train in first year. I didn’t know you’d joined our little study group.”

Barty slowly lowered his wand and gave Harry a tremulous smile. “I kept wishing for three years that I still had you and Regulus to talk to. The other Ravenclaws are all right, I guess, but none of them would understand something like _this_.” He gestured to the room at large to demonstrate what he meant.

Harry nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. “I know. Want to show me what you’ve been working on?”

An eager gleam lit Barty’s eyes, and he instantly spun to shoot a _reparo_ at the dummy. Then he was off, flinging dark curse after dark curse at the human form with barely a pause between spell changes. The dark cloud that had begun to dissipate when Harry approached quickly coalesced into a cloud of heady sparks—nearly invisible to the eye except in Barty’s immediate vicinity.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. It was delicious. Barty’s magic was delicious. He hadn’t felt anything so fine since his encounter with the Dark Lord the year before. Added to that was the fact that Barty was very good with his spellwork. He couldn’t have been participating in many meetings before this, or Harry would have known already. Which meant he had either taught himself, was a genius with dark magic, or he really was just _that_ suited to Ravenclaw.

Watching the other boy flinging spells with a wild grin on his face, Harry felt a stirring deep in the pit of his stomach. He felt himself growing hard, and shifted his robes to hide any obvious bulge. He wanted to be _closer_ to that magic. It was like the Dark Lord all over again. But this time, he felt a stirring at just the thought of being closer to Barty. Skin to skin.

Flushing, Harry looked away from the Ravenclaw and pulled his hands from his pockets, wrapping his robe more securely around himself and crossing his arms.

Perhaps it was time to visit Lucius again.

**~Always By Your Side~**

“So, what does it mean?” Harry asked, having just explained his feelings regarding Barty Crouch Jr.

Lucius set down his glass of firewhiskey with a soft chink of the ice inside. He was seated in a red leather wing-backed armchair near the fire. “You know what it means, Harry,” he chided. “That’s why you came to me.”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, looking around the room. It was Lucius’ bedroom, chosen as their meeting point at the Malfoy heir’s insistence.

“What is it you really want from me tonight, Harry?” Lucius asked. One elegant white hand lifted the glass of liquor to swirl it around inside the fine crystal. In the firelight, it glowed amber. It reminded Harry of Barty’s eyes.

“I-I don’t know.”

“Hmm.” Lucius hummed. He stood, leaving the glass behind, and approached Harry where he stood in the middle of the thick carpet at the center of the room. “Yes. You do.” Lucius raised his left hand, his arm delightfully bared and showing off the dark mark. His hand touched Harry’s face and then drifted higher, threading through messy black tresses.

Harry closed his eyes and subconsciously licked his lips in anticipation. “Narcissa?”

Lucius grabbed the hair on the back of Harry’s head and tugged lightly. “We aren’t married yet. Not until the summer. And I have a promise to keep to you.”

Warm lips brushed Harry’s cheek, just beneath the scar that divided his left eye. He shivered. “You don’t have to…”

“Open your eyes,” Lucius demanded. 

Harry obeyed, and shivered at the grey storm that brewed there. Lucius’ eyes were full of heat lightning. 

“I _want_ to,” Lucius whispered. His other arm snaked around Harry’s waist and pulled them flush against one another. “ _I want you_.”

Gasping, Harry gave himself up to whatever Lucius wanted to teach him. They had all of Christmas break to cover the basics, after all.

**~The Clouds Above Opened Up, and Let it Out~**

“Ah! Harry!” Barty’s hands clenched in Harry’s hair.

Harry hummed lightly, still moving his head. He was kneeling on the floor of the broom cupboard they had taken to using, completely intent on pleasuring his partner.

“I-I…”

Harry moved faster, and sucked harder. With a soft cry, Barty stiffened and Harry relished in the bitter liquid that filled his mouth, swallowing every drop. 

Glowing with satisfaction, Harry gently kissed Barty’s exposed pelvic bone and nuzzled his face against the warm skin. Barty looked down at him with a soft smile and ran one hand lovingly through Harry’s hair.

“Do you want me to…?” Barty trailed off.

Harry shook his head, gently tucking his lover back into his pants and rising. The soft peck on the lips that he had intended turned into a full-on snogging session. Neither of them could keep his hands to himself, and they accidentally knocked over an empty bucket on the floor during their ministrations.

Unfortunately, the loud bang of the metal hitting the stone floor occurred at the same moment as the Marauders passing by the door.

Harry was blinded when their dark alcove was suddenly opened, immediately removing his hands from under Barty’s shirt. Barty was a little slower to remove his hands from their death grip on Harry’s butt cheeks. 

When they saw who it was, of course, they both paled and shrunk back into the closet.

James, the one who had happened to open the door, looked more than a little green. He was staring at Harry as though his brother had two heads.

Sirius just looked shocked, while Remus was mostly indifferent. Peter stood at the back of the group, glancing anxiously between his ‘friends’ and Harry as though not sure which side to choose.

“You’re a pouf!?” James finally exclaimed.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry snapped back, straightening his uniform. “It has nothing to do with sexual preference.”

“That’s just an excuse for being a pouf,” Sirius sneered, disgusted.

“Leave, Crouch,” James ordered the Ravenclaw. “We have no quarrel with you.”

Barty looked at Harry uncertainly, waiting for his lover’s nod before running off down the corridor. With any luck, he would go to find Snape or some of the other Knights and Harry wouldn’t be too badly injured by the time they found him.

“Come along, little pouf,” Sirius snarled, grabbing Harry’s arm. “Perhaps it’s time we reeducated you properly.”

The only thing waiting for Harry when he woke up in the hospital wing the next day was a letter from his father.

_You are disowned. Never return to the Potter Estate. I trust you have ‘friends’ who will gladly take you in for a good fuck._

_~Lord Potter_

Any lingering affection Harry might have held for his family crumbled. They would die. He would kill them with his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m putting this here because it never ended up in the fic! Harry’s animagi form is a horse with a white blaze down his nose. Sev’s is a raven, abnormally large for his size.


	4. Chapter 4

**~Does Anybody Know How to Hold My Heart?~**

Harry snuck up behind Barty and snaked his arms around the Ravenclaw’s waist. “Come with me,” he whispered close to his lover’s ear.

Barty pulled away with a start, then spun to face Harry with a fearful look on his face. “I can’t, Harry! We shouldn’t do that anymore…”

“Why not?” Harry frowned.

Barty looked away, his tongue darting out once to wet his lips. The action went straight to Harry’s groin. But Barty’s next words made him forget about physical desires. “I _can’t,_ ” Barty pleaded. “If my father found out, he would kill me. It’s all right for you, you’re a second son, but I…”

Harry cut him off sharply. “You mean it’s all right for me to be _disowned_ because I wouldn’t have inherited anyway? But oh, no, Bartemius Crouch Jr. is the only heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Crouch, so he can’t be seen consorting with a _fag_.”

Barty flinched, but didn’t deny anything.

With a disgusted snort, Harry turned and walked away. There were others in the school who could satisfy his needs. A prettily plump Gryffindor in Severus’ year came to mind. What was her name? Mary MacDonald, that was it.

With a smirk, Harry changed the path his feet were following to head toward the library, where Mary was often found studying with Lily. The girl had been giving him the eye for a while, so it shouldn’t be difficult to seduce her. 

By the end of the week, Harry was a legend within the walls of Hogwarts—rumors were flying about how he would sleep with anyone if it meant a good time. Male, female, Gryffindor, Slytherin—anyone was free game. Those who had been seduced by him never spoke a word, but everyone in the castle learned their names anyway.

Lily Evans tried to confront him about it—especially since his plans to seduce Mary had resulted in the girl being attacked by Mulciber with dark magic (since after all, there was nothing interesting about the girl if she didn’t have _some_ kind of dark taint about her to attract him).

When he started hitting on Lily Evans in the middle of that conversation, she gaped at him like a fish as a deep blush started to climb her cheeks. Then she slapped him and stalked away in a huff.

Harry filed the information away for a future day. Lily was either attracted to him, was more interested in sex than she pretended, or was attracted to James and Harry hitting on her was too close for comfort.

He would put his money on the last, but for Severus’ sake he decided to hope for the second.

His most interesting conquest in his first month of seducing Hogwarts was his old friend from the train in first year—Regulus Black. Interesting because it was not _he_ who did the seduction.

He was in an empty, _locked_ , and silenced classroom, having just finished with a Hufflepuff girl whose name he had already forgotten. Regulus had quietly undone the spells on the room and entered, causing the girl to squeak as she finished refastening her blouse, then dart out the door.

Harry was lounging against the desk they had used, his pants still hanging open, his shirt unbuttoned, and his unfastened tie hanging loosely around his neck.

As soon as the Hufflepuff was gone, Regulus had locked and silenced the room again, then calmly began peeling off his robes and uniform until he stood before Harry completely naked. Even his wand was tossed aside to rest on his discarded trousers.

“What are you doing, Regulus?” Harry asked, tiredly pushing back his sweaty hair with one hand.

And Regulus smirked, and said, “Seducing you.”

It wasn’t the first time Harry had bottomed—Lucius’ education had been very thorough—but it was the first time he felt the true power of having no control. Oh, Regulus might be the one calling the shots, but Harry was the one who decided how fast they went, and he knew enough of sex to make sure that Regulus came far faster than he had intended.

There was a very deep satisfaction in that. Especially because he could see the frustration in Regulus’ eyes. And even more especially because it made Regulus come back for more. It slowed down Harry’s conquest of the rest of the school, but there were numerous advantages to having a regular partner, as he had learned with Barty.

But the best thing was that he and Regulus shared a dorm room, so Harry didn’t have to work as hard to satisfy his needs.

**~Though I May be Going Down, I’ll Take in Flames Over Burning Out~**

At the end of Harry’s fourth year, after the Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL had let out, he was looking for Severus outside on the lawn when he heard a crowd of jeering students off to one side of the lake.

A sinking feeling started in his stomach, and Harry rushed up to see what was happening. He got there in time to see Severus being lifted into the air by a spell of his own invention. It was, in fact, the same spell with which they had hung James and Sirius from the ceiling in his first year.

James was the one controlling the spell this time, and Sirius was standing beside him, egging him on. Behind them, clearly ignoring what was happening, Harry could see Remus Lupin reading a book. He was a _prefect_ and he was _ignoring_ the bullying happening right beside him!

Storming up, Harry saw that he wasn’t the only one trying to rush to Severus’ rescue. There was Lily with her fiery red hair, confronting James with hands on her hips.

“Leave him alone,” she snapped, glaring up at James with every sign of hatred in her face. “What’s he done to you?”

“It’s more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean…” James said cockily. Several of the other children in the circle around them laughed.

Harry’s jaw tightened as he stalked closer. Most of the circle was made up of Gryffindors, with a few from other houses ranged around in small groups. None of them were interfering, and with so many lions about, he couldn’t safely rescue Severus by himself…

“You think you’re funny,” Lily said coldly, “But you’re just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him _alone_.”

“I will if you go out with me, Evans,” James said quickly.

Harry halted abruptly, missing whatever else James was saying. The sinking, twisting feeling in his gut tightened sharply. This was bad. This was very, very BAD. Severus still hadn’t confessed, and knowing with incontrovertible doubt that James liked and was trying to _woo_ Lily Evans…

“I wouldn’t go out with you if you were the last man on earth!” Lily snapped. “Now let him down!”

James reluctantly raised his wand and used the counter on Severus. Harry winced as his friend fell to the ground with a thump. But Severus was quick to grab his wand while Lily and James were still arguing, and he fired a cutting curse at James, opening a thin cut in the Gryffindor’s cheek.

At that point, Harry closed his eyes in defeat. James and Sirius both retaliated on Severus, while Lily continued to threaten them all, apparently even going so far as to draw her own wand.

And then Severus said something that made Harry stop breathing. “I don’t need help from MUDBLOODS like you, Evans!”

“Well then,” Lily said with ice in her voice. “I won’t bother from now on.”

And she walked away. Just like that. They had been friends for years before even coming to Hogwarts, according to Severus. And they had made it through another five during school. And she just walked away.

Harry was suddenly quite sure that if anyone could see Lily Evans’ face right then, it would be relieved. 

Resigned, he stepped into the circle to join his friend in facing down his brother and Sirius Black. At least two on two would be more fair. He knew they would lose anyway, but this is what friends were for.

Not for the first time, he wished they dared use the dark arts on their enemies. This would have been stopped years before if they could.

Much later, after a teacher had stepped in to stop the fight, and he and Severus had been healed by Madam Pomfrey, Harry was sitting on Severus’ bed waiting for the older boy to return from a meeting with Evans. He already knew what the result of _that_ would be, and he was prepared to do anything necessary to offer Severus the needed comfort and support.

So when Severus sort of lurched through the door of the dorm room, and stumbled across the floor to sprawl on the bed fully clothed, Harry was ready.

Crawling off the bed and gently beginning to remove Severus’ shoes and socks, he asked, “What did she say?”

“She wants nothing to do with me,” Severus said, his voice dead. “I tried everything. I tried apologizing. I…”

Harry paused and looked up at his friend. Severus was crying. Sighing, he tugged off the second sock and crawled back onto the bed, now working at the ties for Severus’ robes. “You told her you love her.”

Severus nodded silently, the tears not stopping in the least.

Harry shook his head, sure he knew what Lily’s answer to that would have been. Gently, he pushed the robes off of Severus’ shoulders, forcing his friend to sit up slightly so they could be removed. Next Harry undid the tie, and pulled it free of Severus’ collar, smoothing his hands gently over the starched white fabric of the shirt.

Severus just looked at him, crying silent tears, and Harry gently folded the older boy into his embrace. They sat like that for a long time, no words passing between them. Harry had enough thought to close and silence the curtains, and then he just sat and held Severus, gently rocking back and forth as his friend grieved.

“Why?” Severus finally gasped. “Why doesn’t anyone…”

He couldn’t finish, but Harry understood. Pulling away slightly, Harry moved his hands to cup Severus’ face and he smiled sadly. Leaning in, he gently brushed Severus’ lips with his own, then pulled back again. “ _I_ love you, Severus. I know it’s not enough. I could never be enough. But _you are not alone_.

Severus stared at him, one hand coming up to touch his lips in wonder. Harry hoped that his friend would understand what he was saying. This was not a romance. It was friendship at the deepest, strongest level. He would give anything of himself if it would help his best friend to cope with his loss.

Then Severus smiled, a small lopsided thing, and leaned in to kiss Harry in return. And Harry knew that the message had been received.

Gently, he began to unbutton his best friends’ shirt, and felt Severus performing the same duties on him. This was not a classroom liaison. This would be slow, and soft, and gentle. This had _meaning_.

And at the back of Harry’s mind, a plan was twisting itself into being. He would crush Lily Evans for doing this to Severus. And if he worked things correctly, he would destroy his brother in the process.

**~Set Fire to the Rain~**

Harry spent that summer with the Black family. By some fortuitous twist, Sirius had been disowned and was now living with the Potters. As a result, Harry spent three long months as Regulus’ plaything, with the added bonus of making some valuable connections with the other members of the House of Black. He met, for the first time, Bellatrix Black, who was apparently betrothed to one of the Lestrange twins in Severus’ year. Even knowing that she was the eldest of the Black sisters, and therefore seven years older than her intended husband, did not help him equate that with the small, _insane_ slip of a girl who flounced around Grimmauld Place like a child.

He had fun that summer. Regulus, of course, thought he had finally gained the upper hand and was now beginning to tire of him. Harry had mixed feelings about that—he would miss the convenience, but not the mind games. But of course, he had won in the end, by making Regulus think that _he_ had won, so it was best if their relationship stopped there instead of beginning a new round.

When they returned to school, Harry was immediately inundated with extra work, as it was his fifth year. Having seen the way Severus struggled under the load the year before, he started revising from day one.

He had not forgotten his plot to destroy Evans and Potter, though. It was always there at the back of his mind. He had even told Peter—or Wormtail as the boy was now addressed by anyone who knew of his animagus form—to keep a close eye on James and Lily this year, and to let him know the _instant_ they began a relationship.

He was sure it was coming. All of the signs were there. 

And then it happened. At the beginning of October, Friday the eighth. It was a full moon.

Harry wasn’t sure what possessed Severus to even try it. The other boy _knew_. He had _known_ that Lupin was a werewolf. He had to have known _it was a trap_.

Perhaps if Harry had been there, he might have stopped it. But he and Severus hadn’t been spending much time together due to Harry’s revising schedule. Harry was too stressed from trying to study for the OWLs to pay attention to what Severus was up to. 

As it was, he suspected that the Marauders had used their separation to trick his friend into some kind of plot that backfired on him.

And as these things happen, by the time Harry learned of what was going on, it was already over. Severus was in the hospital wing, having already been to the Headmaster’s office with Potter, Black and Lupin.

Harry snuck into the hospital wing very early the next morning, fearing the worst. All sorts of wild rumors were flying around, some people saying that Severus had been mauled by a magical creature of some sort. Knowing as much as he did about Lupin, Harry was very afraid he would find his friend in pieces.

But there Severus lay, his face white against the sheets, but appearing to be perfectly healthy.

Of _course_ he was healthy. Harry wanted to smack himself. Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t very well leave him to suffer with the wounds.

Gently, Harry reached down to shake Severus’ shoulder, and stumbled back when his friend sat up with a gasp, one arm raising as if to ward off a blow.

“It’s me, Severus!” Harry cried softly. “Calm down, it’s me.”

Severus stared at him for a moment as though he didn’t recognize Harry. Then he sighed, closed his eyes, and slumped back on the bed. “I thought I was about to be attacked by that _werewolf_ again.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and sat down on the edge of Severus’ bed. “What happened?”

“I was stupid,” Severus admitted. “I overheard Black telling Pettigrew not to let anyone follow Lupin through a secret passage under the Whomping Willow last night. I should have _realized_!”

Harry smiled wryly at his friend and received a grimace in response. “You stopped keeping track of the full moon, didn’t you?”

They had tracked the moon obsessively ever since Harry shared Lupin’s condition with Severus.

Severus shifted in the bed, but didn’t answer. Which was admission in itself.

“It’s not as though we knew where they hid Lupin away before this,” Harry conceded.

Severus sighed again, his mouth twisting bitterly. “It gets worse. I panicked as soon as I realized Lupin was there, and I tried to run. He came _this close_ to biting me.” Severus held his fingers an inch apart and shuddered. “Then Potter was there, and pulling me back into the passage with him. The Headmaster called it a _life debt_. I owe _Potter_ my _life_.”

Harry gaped for a moment, then closed his mouth with a snap. “Didn’t he punish them? Black obviously lured you there on purpose. You could have been killed!”

“No,” Severus growled, his fists clenching in the bedcovers. “In fact, I was sworn to secrecy about the entire matter, and his _precious Gryffindors_ got nary a slap on the wrist!”

Harry felt indignation rising within him, and his own fists clenched in his lap. “I’ll make them pay, Severus,” he promised. “They won’t get away with this.”

“No!” Severus snapped, sitting up again. “Black and Lupin are _mine_. I know you already have plans for Potter, but I cannot sit idly by and let you get revenge for me.”

Harry nodded slowly, deciding not to tell Severus about his plans for Lily Evans. He suspected that his friend still harbored feelings for the bitch.

“I’d better go,” he said instead. “Madam Pomfrey will be up and about soon. You’ll be all right?”

Severus gave him a rare, lopsided smile, and nodded.

Harry nodded and smiled back, then left the hospital wing to head to breakfast. In the corridor outside, a rat scampered right up to him and, seeing that the corridor was empty, transformed into the trembling form of Peter Pettigrew.

“It happened last night!” Peter squeaked. “James got into a fight with Sirius about a prank they played on Snape last night. After Sirius stormed off, Lily approached James to find out what was happening. I don’t know what was said, but I saw her kiss him on the cheek! He’s been floating on air all morning!”

Harry’s stomach sank. Severus was not going to be happy. Not at all.

“Keep an eye on them when you can, Wormtail,” Harry told the spy sternly. “I want to know of any romantic rendezvous that James dreams up. If you find out when he’s planning to sleep with her the first time, come and find me _at once _. I want to know the day, time, and place as soon as you know.”__

Wormtail gaped after him as he walked away.

**~Leave Unsaid, Unspoken~**

Harry studied his reflection in the mirror one more time, and decided that his nose could still stand to be a little longer. He performed the necessary change to the glamour and nodded in satisfaction.

Standing before the mirror in the boy’s bathroom on the second floor of Hogwarts…was someone who appeared to be James Potter. Harry fidgeted with the red-trimmed robes he was wearing, uncomfortable without the green he was used to.

It was almost time. And if he knew his brother, James would enter this bathroom for one last check before meeting with Evans in a classroom that was quite popular for _certain things_. Harry would know; he had used it many times himself.

Moving, he stood behind the door where James wouldn’t see him upon entering. It didn’t take long. Five minutes of standing there, and the door hushed quietly open as someone stepped inside.

James was wearing the invisibility cloak, a Potter family heirloom that Harry had been forbidden to touch. It would be his, one day. He had patience.

Harry waited until James had removed the cloak, then raised his wand and petrified his brother. James fell over at once, his eyes swinging wildly to see who had attacked him. Harry conjured ropes, just in case James had the mental strength to shake off the petrification spell, then leaned into his brother’s field of vision.

James’ eyes widened with incredulity. Smiling, Harry leaned down and took James’ glasses, putting them on his own face. He couldn’t see very well, but he didn’t anticipate having to wear them very long.

A simple hover charm put James in the stall furthest from the door, and he covered him with the invisibility cloak for good measure.

“Sit tight, James,” Harry said. Then he left the room and made his way to the appointed classroom.

Evans was already waiting, her hands twisting nervously in her robes as she stared at him entering the room.

“I’m not sure about this, James,” she said softly. There was a quiver in her voice that made Harry’s skin tingle with anticipation.

“It’s all right,” Harry said gently. “We can take things slow. If you’re still not sure, then we don’t have to do this tonight. No pressure.”

Evans relaxed considerably and smiled up at him. “Thank you,” she breathed.

Harry smiled and crossed the room to her, taking her in his arms. He had been planning to deflower Lily Evans for quite some time. There was no way he was leaving this room without accomplishing his goal.

He used every ounce of Slytherin ability that he possessed, gently kissing her, touching her back and sides, slowly working his hands beneath her robes but not touching skin yet. The kiss grew more heated, and he stroked the expanse of skin that had appeared when she stood on tiptoe to embrace him around the neck. She gasped, and he couldn’t help but smirk against her lips. Too easy.

She pulled away after another few moments, and he regrettably stopped his exploration of the smooth skin on her stomach.

“James…I…”

“Shh….” Harry whispered, dipping his head back down for another kiss. This time he didn’t stay on her lips, but trailed kisses down her jaw to her neck where he attacked with lips, tongue, and teeth a spot that most girls found particularly sensitive.

She was breathing harshly, and pressed closer against him. Harry could feel her erect nipples even through all their layers of clothing. Deciding he could get away with it, Harry pushed her robes from her shoulders and felt her following suit with his own robes a moment later. He almost grinned.

Then Harry stopped, pulling away slightly and pretending to breathe hard as he stared at Lily with hooded eyes. “Should I stop?”

“More!” Lily moaned, leaning up to kiss him again.

Harry stopped holding back. He pulled her close against his crotch so she could feel his erection, reaching his other hand up to squeeze her breast through her shirt and bra. She kissed him harder, and started undoing the buttons on Harry’s shirt.

It didn’t take long for them both to be naked. Lily pulled back slightly, studying his naked body with curious eyes. Harry pretended to do the same, knowing that James was still a virgin.

The silence stretched for a second too long before Harry said, “You’re beautiful.”

Lily blushed, then slowly sank to her knees. 

Harry gave her a questioning look.

“The other girls say it’s fun,” she whispered, shuffling closer to his erection and glancing anxiously between it and his face. “Is it okay?”

Harry nodded mutely, hiding the surprise he felt. Lily was tentative at first, and he made a few small noises to encourage her. It was actually kind of hot, having a girl suck him off who had no idea what she was doing. But he had other plans.

When she started to get a little _too_ enthusiastic, even for him, Harry stopped her. 

She pulled back at once, his erection popping free of her mouth with a wet plopping sound. “You don’t like it?”

“I do,” Harry said. “That’s the problem.” It was exactly the kind of cheesy line James would use.

Lily blushed prettily and rose up, her entire form brushing against him and stealing a gasp from his lips. “What next?” she asked, hesitant.

“Now I get to make _you_ feel good,” Harry murmured huskily. He pushed her back onto the desk in the middle of the room. He returned to her neck at first, to help her relax, then slowly worked his way down her body. He paid especial attention to her breasts, laving one nipple while his free hand tweaked the other. She was soon a gasping puddle lying across the surface of the desk, her legs wrapped around his waist.

Instead of taking advantage of the position immediately, Harry continued down. He nibbled across her stomach, dipped his tongue into her belly button, and then moved down to the juncture between her thighs. She was dripping wet.

Looking up, he saw that she had a nervous, yet excited look on her face. So, the ‘girls’ had told her about this, too?

Harry leaned forward and began to pleasure her with his tongue. It didn’t take long. She was too close to the edge for him to have spent very long doing this. 

Harry did what James would have, and came back up to hold her as she quivered from the orgasm.

“That was…” she finally gasped.

Harry smiled down at her, and said, “I’m glad I could make you feel good, Lily.”

“I-I’ve heard that it hurts the first time,” Lily whispered. Her hands came up to thread into his hair, pulling him down for a kiss despite the fact that she was tasting herself. 

Harry moved closer, purposely allowing his erection to bump against her entrance. Lily gasped and pulled out of the kiss.

“Will you cast a contraception charm? I want to make you feel good, too,” Lily said, determination lighting her eyes. She raised her legs again, scooting a little higher on the desk so that her feet could rest on the edge while her knees stayed bent.

Realizing that the next part of his plan would require something more comfortable, Harry said, “Hold on,” and he fumbled through his robes for his wand, then transfigured the desk into a double bed. Then he pointed his wand at Lily’s stomach and muttered a standard contraception charm. The idea of actually _breeding_ with the girl made him shudder.

Lily giggled, sprawling on the bed. She held her arms open to him and Harry leapt back onto her, playfully growling against her throat just to hear her squeal. Then they shared a passionate kiss that ended with Lily saying, “Now, James. I’m ready.”

Harry nodded, and gently guided himself to her entrance. He pushed in slowly until he felt her barrier, then pulled back slightly and slammed home. Lily gasped loudly in pain, and he just stayed still, holding her, until her shudders had passed.

“Okay?” he asked, kissing her shoulder.

She nodded, and he moved a little to see if she would wince in pain again. Her eyes widened a little, as though surprised, and Harry laughed. Smoothly, he pulled back and pushed back in, over and over and over. And Lily loved it. She started to move in time with him, until they were causing the transfigured bed to creak steadily beneath them.

Harry held back on his own orgasm. He wanted her to come again. It was integral.

They continued on for long minutes, occasionally kissing or sharing little loving gestures that made Harry feel sick to his stomach. He kept up the same steady pace, waiting for some cue from Lily that would tell him she was ready for more.

“I think you should go faster,” Lily gasped, her hips coming up to meet his.

Harry obliged, hitting harder for good measure. And suddenly Lily’s passage was a great deal wetter than it had been. It didn’t take long for her to come again with the increased pace, and Harry allowed himself to spiral after her into oblivion.

He pulled out when he was spent, and held Lily as she snuggled up against him.

“That was amazing, James,” she finally said, a happy sigh escaping her lips.

Harry nodded against her head; his acting skills were wearing thin.

“I wish we could just sleep here,” Lily continued. “I don’t want to move.”

“Then sleep,” Harry said gently, excitement filling his veins. “I’ll make sure you wake up in time to return to Gryffindor before you’re missed.”

“Really?” Lily looked up at him and smiled when he nodded. She snuggled closer, and Harry waited for her breath to even out before he raised his wand from the side of the bed where he had left it after performing the transfiguration.

“Somnus,” he whispered. She fell into a deep sleep at once, and he pushed her out of his arms and left the bed at once. Shrugging back into his clothes, Harry assessed the picture of Lily’s sleeping form. There was a spot of blood on the white sheets of the bed, and he could see a smear of more blood on the inside of her thighs. There was a love-bite appearing on the exposed side of her neck, and her nipples were red and swollen from his attentions.

Smirking, he turned to leave the room, returning to the bathroom where he had left James. His brother was giving him a horrified look when he removed the cloak, and Harry furthered it by returning James’ glasses and then removing his glamour. Then he removed the petrification, leaving James tied up, and waited to see what James would say first.

“What did you do?” James whispered, horrified.

“I kept your appointment with Lily Evans,” Harry answered calmly.

James gaped at him, then paled, then turned red, then paled again. “YOU BASTARD!” he finally screamed. Harry absently silenced and locked the bathroom so no one would hear. “You—” James faltered, his expression turning to despair. “You raped her. You raped her while looking like me! She’ll hate me! You—You’ve ruined my life!”

Harry shook his head, tutting. “That would have been a fitting revenge, wouldn’t it? But no, dear brother. I did not rape Lily Evans. I made sure she enjoyed it. Every. Single. Moment. With me.”

James’ eyes had tears gathering at the corners, and his mouth was twisted with all the emotions he was feeling and couldn’t choose between. “You bastard,” he whispered. “Why? Why would you do this to me? To her?”

Harry scoffed in disbelief. “You are responsible for Father disowning me, James. And I couldn’t allow Evans to throw aside Severus’ friendship and get away with it, could I?”

“But why _this_?” James asked. “Why didn’t you just rape her if you wanted revenge on us both?”

“Ah, but there’s the rub, isn’t it, James?” Harry asked, smiling with satisfaction. “I have no doubt, given how long you two have harbored feelings for each other, that you will end up married. And now you have to live with knowing that it wasn’t _you_ that stole Lily Evans’ virginity, but your despised younger brother. And you have to live with knowing that she enjoyed it. And knowing that she thought it was you. So you can’t ever _tell her_ that she didn’t in fact sleep with you, but someone who only looked like you and acted like you. Every time you touch her. Every time she looks at you with love in her eyes. You will know. I. HAD. HER. FIRST.”

James broke down at that point, sobbing hysterically on the floor of the boy’s bathroom while his brother looked on without pity.

“You’ve got three hours to sort yourself out, dear brother,” Harry finally said. “I’ve left Lily sleeping in that classroom, and she expects you to wake her up before she’ll be missed by the other girls in Gryffindor. Although, given how much knowledge she had about what we just did, I don’t doubt that she’ll be sharing all the _juicy_ details about how good in bed _you_ are. I do hope that you’ll live up to her expectations the next time.”

Harry removed the ropes from James—who curled into a fetal position on the floor in front of the toilet—closed the door to the stall, and left the bathroom.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character death and torture ahead!

**~Don’t You Believe?~**

During Easter Break of Harry’s fifth year, Severus left the school to receive the Dark Mark from Lord Voldemort. With him were Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, Amycus and Alecto Carrow and Alymer Avery.

Harry could scarcely concentrate on his OWLs study during that week. He found himself drawn to the darkest denizens of the castle. There were several seventh years whose presence he suddenly found it comforting to sit in. The dungeons became even more of a haven as he explored the dark depths in search of a dark spot to rest his soul.

Had he been a mudblood, he would have been biting his nails.

When Severus finally returned, pale and drawn, Harry was ready to snap from the stress. He restrained himself with a monumental effort, following Severus and the others into the sixth year dorm so he would be the first to see. Regulus looked after them curiously, but didn’t seem as excited or concerned as Harry felt.

As soon as the door had been shut and locked, Severus bared his left arm so Harry could see and touch the mark. It was still red and puffy with the newness. It looked painful.

Harry moaned and fell to his knees. He hadn’t been this close to the Dark Lord’s power in raw form since that Christmas ball at Malfoy Manor in his second year.

“What was it like? What did he have you do?” he finally managed to breathe.

Severus sucked in a breath of his own, then paused for a long moment as though unsure of what to say. The Lestrange twins, Carrow and Avery had frozen on the other side of the room and were giving Severus rather dangerous looks.

“It’s a secret,” Severus finally said, reluctantly.

The others resumed motion, and Harry sighed. “I understand.”

Severus gave him one of his rare smiles. “You won’t have to wait long. You turn sixteen in the summer, unlike the rest of us. I’ve heard rumors that the Dark Lord intends to single you out.”

Harry struggled to breathe. If he only had to wait until his birthday… three months. Three months until a piece of the Dark Lord’s magic was a part of him. What would it be like? He stroked his fingers across Severus’ mark, shivering at the magic sparking under his fingers.

Severus shivered as well, and pulled his arm away abruptly.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked. He couldn’t see himself. He couldn’t know that his eyes were droopy and hooded, like he had been partaking of certain magical drugs and was suffering from withdrawal.

“It throbs when you touch it,” Severus whispered.

Harry stood, an apologetic expression making the drugged look disappear. “I’m sorry, I forgot that it probably still hurts.”

Severus just stared at him for a long moment, then nodded.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and turned towards the door. It was late. Now that his curiosity was satisfied, he suddenly felt exhausted.

When Harry had left, the other four marked boys surrounded Severus and asked him exactly what ‘it throbs when you touch it’ meant.

**~Memories~**

At midnight on July the thirty-first, nineteen seventy-seven, Harry was called before the Dark Lord and asked to serve.

He entered the room that Lucius, masked and cloaked, directed him to enter. Dozens of other masked and cloaked figures filled what should have been a ballroom. At the other end of the room, on a short dais, was a throne-like chair on which sat the Dark Lord. He was not masked. Nor was he cloaked. The Dark Lord sat in splendor, like a prince—no, a king. From the artistically disheveled black locks on his head down to the polished shine of his boots, he was perfect.

The first thing that Harry noticed was that the man had changed drastically from their last meeting. Gone were the melting features, the unhealthy pallor, and the disfigured nose. The eyes were the only things that had remained the same. Still a crimson red, and slit-pupiled like a snake’s.

“Harry Potter…” breathed that figure. 

Harry forgot how to breathe himself. He descended the short flight of steps into the room, and walked across the room to the Dark Lord’s feet on autopilot.

When he stopped, he realized that he had no idea what he was supposed to do. Should he kneel? Would a bow suffice?

He met the Dark Lord’s eyes and a sense of amusement assaulted his senses, followed by a clear image of himself, bowing.

Harry followed the order without thought. He had already known the Dark Lord employed Legilimency, but feeling it was another thing entirely. The foreign thought flickered in his mind, at once sharper and duller than his own. Would it be the same if it weren’t Lord Voldemort’s thought? He somehow doubted it.

“Harry Potter,” the Dark Lord said again, louder this time. “The one who has waited. The one who has wanted. My little lost lamb has returned to me. What is it you seek?”

“To serve,” Harry gasped. Was there anything else?

“That is all?” the Dark Lord asked, raising one aristocratic eyebrow in question.

Harry took a deep breath to deny that he wanted anything else, then paused to think. His entire being had been focused on serving the Dark Lord the past six years, but before that…

“Ah…” the Dark Lord smiled, and Harry’s breath was stolen away once more. “You see, Harry, there is always something else. And that is why you come to me. Because whatever it is you desire, I can grant it to you. And in return, I ask only for your service. Will you tell us? Tell us what it is that you want, Harry Potter.”

“The Potter family,” Harry said boldly, “I want them dead. And I want the birthright that has been denied me.”

Unintentionally, an aura of dark energy erupted around him at the thought. He had set aside this desire for too long, and only now was he reminded of the strength of his hatred.

Several of the Death Eaters closest to the dais tensed, drawing their wands. Lord Voldemort halted them with a single raised hand.

“Yessssss…” he hissed. “I can feel your hatred for them. Such delicious dark magic you possess, dear Harry. I wonder what you can do with it?”

“Allow me to prove myself, my lord!” Harry begged, nearly falling to his knees before he remembered himself.

“Yes…” the Dark Lord said again. “Do you know how I choose my Death Eaters, dear Harry? Do you know how our numbers prove themselves worthy?”

Harry met Lord Voldemort’s eyes once more. He wanted to be sure the Dark Lord knew he had discerned this answer on his own, without Severus telling him. “Murder.”

The Dark Lord chuckled softly, relaxing back into his throne. “In the simplest sense, I suppose. But it is not simple murder that I ask of you, dear Harry. It is vengeance! It is power! It is conquering death!”

Lord Voldemort surged to his feet and Harry started back half a step before standing his ground.

“You wish to see your family dead. So here is your chance at vengeance. Go forth now, and kill them. My Death Eaters will accompany you, to witness the deed and to help you should trouble strike. Return here when you are finished.”

Then the Dark Lord turned away, walked behind the throne, and disappeared through a door that had been concealed there.

Harry bent forward in a bow until he was sure the Dark Lord was gone, then straightened and turned to the crowd of Death Eaters. Thirteen had moved forward to join him while his back had been turned. He recognized, through familiarity, the forms of Lucius and Severus. The others, he suspected, were the first five who had been raised with Lucius, Severus’ five year-mates, and one other whom he couldn’t name.

Lucius held up a length of silky black rope—a portkey. The circle of Death Eaters plus Harry all came close enough to touch it. Harry looked up at those white-masked faces and smiled the wolf’s smile. “To Potter Manor.”

**~A Question of Honour~**

They arrived with a lurch. Before Harry could even think of contemplating getting so many foreign persons through the wards, Lucius and the unknown thirteenth stepped forward with wands raised and began dismantling the ancient wards entirely.

Harry realized the mistake he had almost made at once—had he altered the wards to accept the Death Eaters, it would have been obvious to the Aurors that a family member had given them admittance. And since the only living relatives were himself and James, and James was a Gryffindor while Harry was a Slytherin and disowned to boot…

He filed the note away in his mind and waited patiently next to Severus for the wards to be lowered.

“Are you ready for this?” Severus asked very quietly.

Harry nodded. “I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life.”

“I understand,” Severus murmured. “When I was marked…I killed my father. Mother followed him a few weeks later.”

Harry looked at the white-masked face of his best friend and then reached out to pat him on the arm. Severus was also staying with the Malfoy’s that summer. When Harry had asked why, Severus had only told him that his parents had passed away. He had seemed withdrawn and quiet as he said it—Harry had been suspecting for weeks that there was more to the story than his friend had been saying.

A shower of golden sparks shimmered in the night air as the wards fell. Lucius immediately erected anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards. It would make it harder for them to get out, but it meant their victims could not escape and the Aurors could not enter directly into the property should they be alerted early.

The Death Eaters waited for Harry to take the lead, and he felt adrenaline surge through his veins as they entered the Potter grounds. It was much more modest than Malfoy Manor. The house was within easy viewing distance of their entry point, and took only a few minutes to reach at their steady trot.

The windows were dark. The front door was unlocked. Harry silently ascended the main staircase and the Death Eaters ghosted swiftly after him.

He checked James’ room first. It was empty, and he wasn’t surprised. It would have been a stroke of luck to find his entire family home at the same time. But he wasn’t disappointed that James was apparently sleeping over at Remus’ or Peter’s house along with Sirius. After all, James had barely begun to suffer Lily’s love after Harry had raped her.

His parents’ bedroom was the master suite at the very end of the hall. He slipped up to the door and cautiously opened it. He wouldn’t have put it past his father to be lying in wait after hearing some disturbance. But when he peered into the room, Dorea and Charlus Potter were sleeping soundly in their bed.

Harry turned to the Death Eaters arrayed around the door and held a finger to his lips. Then he entered the room and raised his wand. A quick _incarcerous_ and his father was bound from neck to ankle in ropes. He used a levitation charm to move the man out of the bed and into a chair near the window. Then he turned his attention to his still-sleeping mother.

Charlus came round quickly and immediately started to push at his bonds. Harry hadn’t bothered to cover the man’s mouth, so he was treated to a scathing diatribe.

“Who’s there? What is the meaning of this? Get out of my house! Get out at once!”

Charlus’ shouting woke Dorea, and Harry snapped out an _expelliarmus_ when his mother reached for her wand on the nightstand.

The woman sat up and peered through the dark room in Harry’s direction. “James?”

Harry scowled. “No, mother. Your other son. Harry.”

Her face closed off, and Harry braced himself for what he knew she was about to say. “I have no son named Harry. James is an only child.”

He couldn’t even fault her for it. He had been disowned. Pureblood etiquette decreed that he was no longer a Potter.

“And for that,” Harry said quietly, “I will make you pay with your life.”

The Death Eaters chose that moment to start entering the room, and Harry was gratified to see the stubborn expression on his mother’s face morph into fear. Charlus was too bull-headed to see what was about to happen, but Dorea Black was more than able.

Harry briefly debated on what curse he should use. Should he torture his mother? Or should he give her the merciful death that a true Black deserved?

He decided on a mix. And the easiest method he could think of was the simplest:

“ _Crucio!_ ” he cried. The spell slammed into his mother’s body, jerking her back against the headboard before she started screaming and convulsing.

“Dorea!” Charlus screamed. “Stop! Harry, stop!”

Harry ignored both his mother’s anguish and his father’s cries for him to stop. He concentrated on the dark magic filling his veins and he held the spell, and held it, and held it. It took three minutes for his mother to become incapable of screaming. It took five for her to be driven mad by the pain. It took ten for it to kill her, blood running from her eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. Harry finally released the spell and then turned to his father, who had watched in horrified silence when it became clear that Harry _wouldn’t_ stop.

“What do you want?” Charlus whispered, when he could bring himself to meet Harry’s eyes.

Harry cocked his head to the side. A slightly mad smile was on his lips, and his pupils were blown from his use of the Unforgivable. “What makes you think I want anything?”

Charlus gaped. “You must! Why would you do this, if you had no goal? We’re your family!”

Harry scowled, and raised his wand. A flick of the tip and the ropes binding his father disappeared. Another flick and the man was slammed against the wall beside the window, arms and legs spread apart. “I have no _family_. I was abandoned the moment I was born. The people I lived with until I turned fourteen fed me and clothed me, but they have _never_ been my _family_.” Harry gestured to the Death Eaters still standing around the room. “ _They_ are my family. More of a family than you ever tried to be, father.”

Charlus Potter stared at him, his jaw working. Harry gave him no time to speak. “ _Centum pugionis!_ ” he concentrated fiercely on the dark spell, and one hundred daggers appeared in the air, rushing across the space to pierce his father’s flesh at his direction. In seconds, Charlus was held to the wall only by the daggers ringing his body. As he hung there, gravity itself started the true torture as the daggers slowed dragged through his skin, muscles, tendons, and eventually bone as he slid down the wall an infinitesimal fraction at a time.

There were a few appreciative murmurs from the Death Eaters—it was a difficult spell to control to that degree.

“ _Membrum!_ ” Harry snapped next. 

Charlus had screamed when the daggers first struck him, and he continued to make pained noises as they slowly cut through his body. Now, as he felt the burning sensation start in his fingertips and toes, he began to scream desperately for Harry to stop, to have mercy.

“WHEN DID YOU HAVE MERCY ON ME?” Harry yelled, moving close enough to stare Charlus directly in the eyes. “YOUR OWN SON! WHEN DID YOU EVER SHOW ME COMPASSION? WHAT RIGHT DID YOU HAVE TO TREAT AN INNOCENT BABY LIKE A MURDERER?”

“Please, please!” Charlus gasped the word over and over. By now the burning would have worked up into his arms and legs. It left no physical sign of its passing, only a violent twitching of the muscles similar to the Cruciatus.

“You made me like this, father,” Harry whispered directly into Charlus’ ear. “You brought this on yourself. I hope you die regretting that mistake.”

He stepped back, studying his work. Then he cast one last curse, “ _Exta expellare!_ ”

With a sickening squelch, his father’s entrails were ripped from his abdomen and strewn across the floor. Harry made sure they were cut clean from Charlus’ body, then stood back to wait. The daggers continued their work, and the burning continued in its path, moving steadily towards the brain and death.

It took only seven minutes, and then Charlus Potter was dead.

Harry grinned. It was done. Except for James, who could wait, his vengeance was complete.

A new idea occurred to him, and he turned to the Death Eaters to ask for their help at last. “I want to clean up this mess and place them in the bed. Can we make it look like nothing happened?”

The masked figures nodded, and before he could think to help with the process, it was already half done. The blood was vanished from Dorea’s face, and she was settled back under the covers. Harry replaced her wand on the nightstand while another Death Eater levitated Charlus into the bed. A stasis charm was placed on both bodies, so that they would stop bleeding. All evidence of what had been done was removed from the wall beside the window, and the entrails were Vanished.

When they were done, Harry stood beside the door and nodded with satisfaction. When James returned home, he would have no idea something was wrong with his parents until he touched them.

“Can we bind the Dark Mark spell to activate when the door is opened?” Harry asked, practically rubbing his hands together.

He could hear the smile in Lucius’ voice when he answered, “Of course, Harry. I must say, the Dark Lord will be impressed.”

Harry couldn’t help the pride he felt. That was clearly Lucius’ way of saying _he_ was impressed.

The spell work complete, they left the house as they had entered, and returned outside the edge of the property. Lucius lowered the anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards and raised a semblance of the wards that had once covered the property in their place. Nothing would be noted until the Dark Mark was raised above the house when James discovered Dorea and Charlus’ bodies.

Sated, they portkeyed back to Malfoy Manor and the Dark Lord. Harry felt a tingle starting in his skin. Finally. _Finally_.

**~This is the Right Time…Once in a Lifetime~**

Once more Harry walked the length of the Malfoy ballroom to stand before Lord Voldemort’s throne. All of the other Death Eaters who had been present before were now gone. Behind Harry followed the thirteen Death Eaters who had accompanied him, and when he stopped in front of the dais they arranged themselves in a semi-circle around him. Here was their place of honor—to witness the marking of their newest member.

Lord Voldemort stood, a long, thin wand of bone-white wood held in his left hand. “Harry Potter has returned. Tell me, Bella, how did he perform?”

A figure stepped out of the circle behind Harry and came to stand beside him. It was the unknown thirteenth who had aided Lucius with the wards. When she spoke, Harry recognized who it was.

“He did admirably well, my lord,” said Bellatrix Black. “Dorea and Charlus Potter are dead by his hand, and through his cunning the attack and their bodies will not be noted until his brother arrives home to discover the deed.” She bowed and stepped back into the line as Harry once more became the sole focus of the Dark Lord’s attention.

“Excellent. I have always held high hopes for you, dear Harry. Ever since you stumbled into that salon three years ago. I owe you a boon for that day, which we will discuss in private after you have been marked.”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he bowed low, murmuring, “You are too kind, my lord…”

“You did me a kindness that day,” Lord Voldemort said softly. “It is only right that I return one in kind.”

Harry rose slowly from his bow, and met the Dark Lord’s eyes. In them he saw his own image, as a boy of twelve years staring in childish fascination on a face too terrible for many to behold without cringing away. “As you say, my lord,” he said slowly, a faint trembling starting in his fingers. His stomach flipped uncomfortably and he wondered if he was somehow nervous to be getting the dark mark now.

Then Lord Voldemort began descending the dais and Harry forgot his discomfort.

“Show me your left arm,” Lord Voldemort commanded, loud enough for the entire room to hear.

Harry carefully unbuttoned his shirtsleeve and rolled it up above his elbow. The skin on his arm was unremarkable and pale, blue veins clearly visible at his wrist.

The Dark Lord took that wrist gently in his right hand, and pressed the tip of that bone-white wand against the flesh on the inside of Harry’s arm. Harry could feel the dark magic beginning to gather there, and he shuddered at the feeling. His blood was pulsing in time to that dark beat, and he struggled to listen to what the Dark Lord was saying.

“You have proven yourself worthy of becoming my Death Eater. Bearing my mark means that you will forever be bound to me. Wherever you are in the world, I will find you. Whenever I call for you, you will feel it.

“I require absolute obedience of my Death Eaters. If I tell you to do something, you do it. If you fail to complete a task I give you, you will be punished. And if you defect from our ranks, you will be hunted down and killed.

“Knowing all of this, do you still wish to serve?”

The unspoken message was clear. Should Harry say no, he would be killed on the spot. But he had no intention of turning back now—or ever.

“I will serve you forever, my lord,” he said firmly.

Lord Voldemort smiled, and Harry’s stomach did that strange flip again. Then the dark magic was gathering against his left arm and he looked away from those crimson eyes to watch the spell being cast.

The Dark Lord spoke no incantation, but within moments a black cloud of magic was shaping itself against Harry’s skin. It took on the form of a skull with a snake emerging from the mouth. The image sharpened, and then the burning began. It was a like a thousand needles piercing his skin all at once and all in the same spot. A thousand needles that were glowing red-hot with the fires of Hell.

Harry gritted his teeth and bore the pain. He refused to scream. This was the most momentous occasion of his young life, and he wanted to remember it with pride.

Then, as the dark magic _snapped_ into being, the brand on his arm complete, something happened. Harry would later remember it only as an overwhelming surge of the Dark Lord’s magic through his body, touching every essence of his soul.

The Death Eaters who witnessed the event would remember how Harry Potter threw back his head and screamed, a thick current of black dark magic connecting him to the Dark Lord. The feel of that magic was so strong that it caused all thirteen of them to collapse.

And the Dark Lord would remember the feeling of his magic melding and twisting with another’s before Harry Potter floated off of the floor of the Malfoy ballroom and a pulse of pure magic exploded from his form, shattering every breakable object in the room. 

Lord Voldemort would be the only one to remain conscious through the entire event. And he would be the only one to understand what had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to warn you, next chapter Voldemort is going to be incredibly out of character. And the next chapter, as well. He’s still him—he’s not going to turn all soft and mushy just yet—but he’s VERY confused. Also, I skip large gaps of time in this fic so I’m only showing the highlights. Just keep that in mind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early chapter because you’re all awesome.  And, you know, because this is what you’ve been waiting for. SLASH SEX AHEAD!! I might start updating twice a week…if you ask nicely. :P

**~My Heart Knows Me Better Than I Know Myself~**

Harry woke slowly. He felt warm, ensconced in the most comfortable bed he'd ever lain in. His magic felt somehow full, as though it had eaten something particularly satisfying. When he opened his eyes, he had no idea where he was. It didn't seem to matter. He was in no pain, no discomfort. For perhaps the first time in his life, he felt completely at home.

And then the Dark Lord's face leaned into his vision and his eyes met a pair of concerned red orbs, and he remembered, with a rush, what had happened.

But even that didn't matter, while he was looking into those eyes. Something had changed. He couldn't quite put his finger on what, but he knew something was different.

"I'm glad you're awake," Lord Voldemort said. The mattress shifted slightly, and Harry realized that the Dark Lord was sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. "You've been asleep for more than a week."

Harry blinked slowly, then decided it might be time to move a bit. He pulled his arms from under the covers, and pushed slightly at the thick duvet that was lying over him. He felt sluggish, but still entirely comfortable. His brain kept shying away from the thought that this was the _Dark Lord_ sitting next to him. What did that matter, anyway?

Lord Voldemort was smiling at him now. Harry experienced his first moment of discomfort when his heart decided to skip a beat. "Wha happ'n'd?" he mumbled.

The Dark Lord's lips twitched, as though he were suppressing an outright grin. "Our magic interacted in a very rare and complicated manner known as Resonance. It would seem that until we can resolve this matter, I will have to refrain from casting magic on you and vice versa."

Harry's brow furrowed, and he pushed at the covers a little harder, struggling to sit up and think properly. A thought made him look down and he realized with a start that he was sitting naked in the bed. He focused on his left arm, the source of his thoughts, and saw the perfect shape of the dark mark branded there. He touched it gently, and it _sang_ under his fingertips. At the same time, he heard the Dark Lord suck in a sharp breath, almost a gasp.

Looking up, Harry noted that the bright red of Lord Voldemort's eyes had darkened to ruby shadows. "My mark is all right, though?" he managed to ask clearly.

The Dark Lord nodded, leaning slightly closer as Harry's hand closed over the mark and tightened. "Do you feel that?"

Harry nodded, hesitantly. "What is it?"

"The Resonance. My magic calls to you and yours calls to me. When I cast the dark mark on your arm, our magics mixed dangerously. You are not yet strong enough to withstand it as I did."

"But what causes it?" Harry asked, stroking his fingers over the mark again. 

Voldemort closed his eyes and visibly shuddered. "No one really knows. But there are theories. One is that when two wizards form a Resonance, it means that sometime in their futures, a very strong magical connection will be formed between them. The Resonance is that connection echoing backward through time to reach them in the now. But that is a paradox. If you and I were to form such a connection in the future, it would be influenced by our knowing of the Resonance now. I do not believe that time works like that."

Harry nodded again, in silent agreement. His fingers stilled over the mark, and Voldemort opened his eyes once more, staring at Harry questioningly. Harry hesitated, then allowed his magic to pool in his fingers as though he were holding a wand and about to cast a spell. Then he stroked the mark again.

Voldemort moaned, and one long-fingered hand reached out and seized Harry's wrist before he could touch the mark again. "Stop," the Dark Lord commanded. His voice had deepened and developed a husky undertone.

This was it. This was what had changed. Harry lifted his left hand and laid it overtop of Voldemort's hand on his wrist. The flesh was warm and smooth. He never wanted to stop touching it. Wanted to touch every inch of that skin, up the Dark Lord's arm to the juncture of shoulder and neck, the ears, the strong chin, the lips...

"I think I've fallen in love with you, my lord," Harry whispered, his hand tightening slightly on the Dark Lord's hand. And Voldemort squeezed Harry's wrist in turn.

"I know," Voldemort whispered back.

Harry looked away from where they were touching, back up to the Dark Lord's face. It seemed...pained. "What is it?"

Lord Voldemort shook his head, and pulled his hand away. "You should rest. I have something I must attend to. Do not touch your mark while I am gone."

Harry watched the Dark Lord as he left the room, taking in the opulent chamber where he was resting and asking, desperately, "Where am I?"

Voldemort paused in the doorway, and half-turned his head back to face the bed. "You are in my home. And that is my bed."

Then he was gone.

Harry burrowed back under the covers and breathed deeply of the scent he found there. It was spice and musk, and some other note that was uniquely Voldemort. He was sleeping in the Dark Lord's bed. Harry giggled, feeling giddy. Then he pulled up his left arm until he could look at the dark mark where he lay. It was beautiful, inky black. He had slept through it healing, or perhaps Lord Voldemort had healed it to spare him. Harry smiled at the thought. He wanted to thank his lord for taking care of him, but he was already starting to feel sleepy.

A thought occurred to him, and Harry bit his lip indecisively. It wasn't _technically_ touching, but...

It would probably be okay; Harry leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against the mark, then fell into a peaceful sleep.

Elsewhere in the house, Lord Voldemort shuddered and fell to his knees, thankfully alone. It felt as though someone had pressed a healing kiss to his very soul. The pleasure was indescribable, but it was mixed with immeasurable pain. His soul was cracked and weak, he now knew. He didn't deserve what Harry was capable of giving him.

Kneeling alone in the corridor, the Dark Lord wept.

**~Open Your Wings, Evil Angel~**

When next Harry woke, he was alone in the Dark Lord's room. A sense of urgency was tingling across his senses, driving him back into the waking world. He opened his eyes on a dark room, his magic rippling in the air around him and occasionally darting across the room toward the door.

Harry could take a hint. Something was calling him. And given what had happened recently, he was sure it was the Dark Lord who needed him. 

He pushed off the covers and slid out of the bed, remembering again that he was naked. Normally, he wouldn't have cared about covering himself before following his magic, but he didn't know who else might be in this house other than the Dark Lord, and he didn't know how his lord would take him wandering around nude, even if there was an urgent need.

Looking around, Harry saw an ancient wardrobe and he stumbled across the room to it as quickly as he could, the sense of urgency growing every minute. Inside, the wardrobe was packed with a huge selection of robes, suits, jackets, and pants folded over hangers. He grabbed the first robe he could find that wasn't covered in delicate embroidery, threw it on, and then left the room while holding it closed in one hand. 

In the corridor outside, Harry squinted against the very Muggle electric lights that hung from the ceiling. He appeared to be in a narrow hallway that was lined with doors, and a staircase at either end, one up and one down. His magic told him to go down, so he turned right from the bedroom doorway and descended the stairs at the end of the hallway. Here, he found himself in the foyer of the house, with three doors leading off of it. Harry turned to the closest one, and pushed it open without knocking. It was a den, with a seating arrangement on one side in front of the fireplace, and a desk made of dark wood on the other side surrounded by tall built-in bookcases crowded with volumes.

The Dark Lord was sitting behind the desk, his head in his hands. A small tumbler of liquor was sitting near his elbow, thick beads of condensation covering the surface. Whatever ice had been in it was long melted.

"My lord?" Harry asked softly, approaching the desk cautiously despite his magic urging him into physical contact with the Dark Lord.

"What have you done to me?" Voldemort asked him, brokenly. "What kind of magic is this?"

Harry decided his magic was right and caution was unnecessary. He rounded the desk and gently pulled his lord's hands away from his face. There were tears on those pale cheeks. The crimson eyes were red from more than the dark magic that filled them. Harry softly wiped away the tears, then leaned down slowly and pressed his lips against Lord Voldemort's. This moment reminded him painfully of the night he had comforted Severus, and he pulled back when the Dark Lord parted his lips as though to invite him entrance.

Harry ran his fingers through his lord's thick black hair, and perched on the edge of the desk so he could remain in close proximity. He forgot about holding the robe closed, though, so when the Dark Lord growled and pulled him forcibly off the desk to straddle him in the chair, his naked front was pressed against the warm, rough fabric of his lord's robes. He gasped, quickly becoming aroused.

"I have been entirely out of countenance this week you've been asleep, dear Harry," Voldemort hissed in his ear. "And now that you are awake, I am _feeling_ things for the first time since I was a child. And then you dare to _kiss me_..." a rough hand grabbed a handful of Harry's hair at the back of his head, and yanked until his throat was exposed. "I think it is past time that you give me what _I_ want. _NOW!_ "

Sharp teeth bit into Harry's neck, and he cried out at the mix of pleasure and pain, sure that there was blood being drawn. The Dark Lord's free hand grabbed the back of the robes hanging from Harry's shoulder, and pulled until Harry was forced to twist his arms and allow the fabric to fall away entirely. When he sat naked in Voldemort's lap, the Dark Lord stopped his assault and pulled back, his hands moving down to Harry's hips as he looked over his prize.

"Do you know how your naked flesh sleeping in my bed tortured me, Harry?" Voldemort's hands caressed Harry's sides, moving up until his thumbs could stroke the pebbled brown nipples. Harry threw his head back once more, his breath catching. "Do you know how long it has been for me?"

Voldemort grew quiet then, leaning forward to tease Harry's chest with his lips and tongue. Harry's hands came up of their own will to tangle in those black locks once more, little gasps and cries of pleasure escaping his lips as the Dark Lord worked. After a few minutes of this, the Dark Lord lifted Harry onto the edge of the desk once more, and stood to lean over him, one hand going down to open the fly on his trousers while his sensual assault moved up to Harry's lips.

Harry tasted blood in Voldemort's mouth, and he clutched harder at the broad shoulders now leaning over him, drawing his legs up until his feet rested precariously on the edge of the desk. The Dark Lord's hand was between them, guiding, as he rocked his groin against Harry's bottom.

"My lord!" Harry cried, breaking the kiss. It had been more than a month since he had bottomed—his body wasn't at all prepared, but he didn't care. He wanted to feel his lord inside of him. He wanted the hot, hard passion he was sure the Dark Lord possessed.

Voldemort guided himself to Harry's entrance, and began to press in. His head lowered to Harry's shoulder and he whispered, "Tom."

"W-what?" Harry gasped, opening eyes he hadn't realized he had closed. The Dark Lord lifted his head to look at Harry, a vulnerable expression masking the lust in his eyes.

"My name is Tom."

Harry groaned as his lord breached the ring of muscle that guarded his entrance. It burned even as it sparked his arousal, and he returned the gift he had been given as they rocked together on the edge of the Dark Lord's desk. "Tom!"

They spiraled into oblivion together.

**~No Good Deed Goes Unpunished~**

Harry sat in the chair opposite Tom's desk in the den, watching as his lord scribbled notes on a scroll of parchment using a Muggle fountain pen. He felt a surreal sort of fascination to be sitting there and watching that. It was now three days since he had first woken up. There were only three weeks until he returned to school, and for the first time he was feeling reluctant to return. Because now there was Tom.

Tom, who had demanded that Harry spend the remainder of his time before school with _him_. Tom, who had sent a missive to Lucius, Severus, and the other Death Eaters telling them that sharing what had occurred during Harry's marking would result in a long and painful death. Tom, who still hadn't quite explained what sort of relationship this was, where Harry was a servant, and Voldemort the lord, and Tom a different entity all together.

Tom. Harry's Tom.

"Tom," Harry whispered, without thinking.

The Dark Lord looked up, a questioning look in his beautiful crimson eyes. Harry shook his head, and Tom returned to his scribbling.

The worst part of the entire scenario was that Harry was bound to this man as surely as iron was drawn to a lodestone. But Tom was not bound to him in turn.

Tom did not return his love. Could not. Harry hadn't thought that it would bother him--because at least he was considered precious to the Dark Lord. At least he would be kept until school started again. But there was a niggling doubt—a fear that Tom would choose someone else while Harry was away. A frown marred Harry's face, and he slouched a little bit in his chair, not realizing as he did so that the Dark Lord had stopped writing and was watching him pensively.

Who would it be? Harry wondered. Perhaps Bellatrix...she was one of his most devoted Death Eaters, apparently. Harry hadn't even known she was one until she stood beside him in that circle after the deaths of the Potters. Thinking of them lifted Harry's spirits slightly, and he smiled a little to think of the article on the front page of the Daily Prophet. James' devastated face was even now adorning the wall above Harry's own desk, upstairs and down the hall from Tom's bedroom.

Thoughts of Tom's bedroom drew him inevitably back to his relationship with the Dark Lord. Harry wanted...he didn't know what he wanted, but the current situation wasn't satisfying some need hidden in his heart. The only thing he was sure of, was that the need was not for the Dark Lord's love.

A heavy sigh made Harry look up, and he realized finally that Tom had been watching him. "Sorry," Harry whispered, flushing.

"I wish you would just tell me what the problem is so I can fix it," Tom said waspishly.

Harry shrugged, ignoring the way Tom's mouth tightened at the action. "If I knew how to explain it, I would tell you. But I don't."

Tom threw down his pen and stood, coming round the desk. He settled against the edge in front of Harry and crossed his arms over his chest. "Then let me see it in your mind."

Harry hesitated, then looked into Tom's eyes. It would be useless to try and keep secrets from Tom. He had nothing to hide.

Harry felt a flickering on the edges of his senses, like seeing something just out of the corner of your eye that disappeared as soon as you looked. He saw a slight smirk on Tom's face, and asked, "What? It's not embarrassing or silly, is it?"

Tom shook his head ever so slightly, not breaking eye-contact. "I just noticed you seem to have a natural talent for Occlumency. It's impressive that you can sense me, though you're probably aided by knowing that I'm doing it."

Harry frowned. "But if I learned Occlumency, wouldn't that block you out?"

Tom looked at him, instead of through him as he broke the connection. "Only if you wish it. I can teach you--talent in Occlumency often leads to talent in Legilimency. We would be able to speak to one another through eye contact, and you could spy on people's minds for me. It's a useful talent."

"Okay, if that's what you want. What did you find?"

The Dark Lord sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're afraid of me taking someone else as a lover while you're away at school, which you already knew. I can alleviate that one by telling you that if I have any such urges, you will be summoned through your mark, and I will have my wicked way with you whenever I like."

Harry felt a flush climbing his neck, and ducked his head as a silly grin lit his face.

"The second part is harder to explain. You want something from me. Something unnamed. It might just be related to the Resonance. And it may be that I simply need to pay more attention to you. I can't quite tell what the answer is, either." Tom moved back around the desk to retake his seat, and Harry felt an inexplicable sense of disappointment. When Tom looked up at him, he stilled and asked, "What's wrong?"

Harry stood and moved around the desk, plopping himself in Tom's lap. "I think I might just need to be closer to you," he whispered. "That weird feeling got ten times worse when you moved back over here."

Tom's arms came around him, and Harry snuggled into his chest, smiling at the warmth that was spreading through him.

"I hope this isn't because of the Resonance," Tom said softly. "If our being apart causes you to feel like this because of our magic, I can't see how we'd be able to stay apart while you're at school all year."

Harry nodded silently, closing his eyes to soak in the feeling of being loved and held. This was all he needed. It didn't feel like magic, only like something he had always wanted and never been able to have.

Tom kissed him softly on the forehead, and Harry smiled as he slowly drifted off to sleep, napping in his lover's arms.

**~Sweet Sun, Send Me the Moon~**

When Harry returned to school to begin his sixth year, there was a large bruise on one side of his neck that clearly contained a vicious set of teeth marks. The Dark Lord had insisted on marking Harry as his the night before...amongst other things. As he walked through the train cars searching for Severus, Harry was met with horrified gasps from many students who saw the bruises, and many of those whom he had slept with in the past gave him wildly curious or amazed looks. It was clear from the tooth marks that Harry Potter was now an owned man. The playboy of Hogwarts had been defeated, and everyone wanted to know _who_ was responsible.

He found Severus in a compartment along with Regulus and Barty, and as soon as he came through the door, Severus grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the corridor and down the hall to the boy's loo. A complex series of spells ensured them total privacy before Severus asked, " _What happened!?_ "

Tom had coached Harry on what to say should any of the thirteen ask him this, and he had promised not to tell anyone the truth--even Severus. "There was a reaction between my magic and the Dark Lord's. He kept me for the rest of the summer so he could research it."

Severus raised an eyebrow, knowing him well enough to detect a lie. "I see." And he did. Severus would know that this was exactly what the Dark Lord had told him to do, and would ask nothing more. "And this?" a long finger poked the bruise on Harry's neck, and he winced. Tom had _made sure_ that it couldn't be covered by any glamour or healed with any magic.

"Our lord...did that as well," Harry whispered, a blush climbing his cheeks. He looked away from Severus' dark eyes, afraid of what he might see there.

"I see," Severus said again, softly this time. "Did he...? Are you...?" He didn't seem to know how to phrase what he was trying to ask.

"I was more than willing," Harry said with a small smile, looking back up at his friend. "I'm only a little worried because I think I've fallen in love with him...and he isn't capable of returning those feelings."

Severus' eyes grew distant, and he nodded. "If I could have had Lily, even knowing that she didn't love me, I would have been happy anyway. I'm glad our lord accepted you."

"Do you...still want her?" Harry asked quietly. He didn't want to reopen new wounds, but if it was ever in his power to deliver Lily Evans into Severus' hands...he would do it in a heartbeat if that was what his friend wanted.

"Yes," Severus said simply. "And no. I don't think I could ever love her the same, now. Not after James has touched her."

"And after I've killed James?" Harry asked.

Severus paused, a gleam appearing in his eyes as he considered the thought of a very dead James Potter. "She would not come to me willingly. I am not interested in rape. And a broken Lily would not be the same. I don't see any way that it could work, even then."

Harry nodded, and dropped the subject. He _could_ see a way to make it work. And he would, if Lily Evans survived James Potter's death.

"Do you want me to heal it?" Severus asked.

Harry shook his head. "You wouldn't be able to. It has to heal naturally. I was a little worried about what the professors were going to say or try to do about it--but then I remembered that I'm a disowned orphan, and they're lucky Father paid for all seven years of my schooling in advance. I don't think they legally _can_ do anything, except give me detention for distracting the other students." He laughed a little, and Severus smirked in amusement.

They dismantled the spells on the loo and returned to the compartment. Regulus was giving Harry hungry looks every time he glimpsed the bite marks on his neck. Perhaps there was something about it that finally clued him in to the fact that he had lost their little fuck war the summer before. Harry did grow tired of the looks, though, and worried. So he finally snapped, "If you so much as touch me inappropriately, and he finds out about it, you will be rewarded with a slow and painful death. Consider yourself warned, Regulus Black."

Severus snorted, probably because Harry had used the exact same wording that Tom had used in his letters to the thirteen witnesses about discussing the events of that night.

Regulus paled, obviously capable of connecting the dots to who, exactly, would have the power to do something like that. After that, he barely even looked at Harry, much less leered.

On the ride up to the castle, Harry suddenly remembered something very important. "I can't believe this will be your last year," he told Severus.

Severus smiled slightly, and shrugged. "I'll be so busy studying for NEWTs that we probably won't get to spend any time together. And you'll be busy actively recruiting among the lower years anyway, won't you?"

Harry nodded. The Dark Lord had given him a bit more power over the school by singling him out before he even began his sixth year. He would personally oversee the other sixth years who would join this Easter, and would be the primary witness among each of their thirteen. Barty and Regulus, who were in the carriage with them, would be two of those.

Severus pursed his lips pensively. “Sometimes…often I wish that I had been born a year later than I was. Perhaps if I had been in your year, instead of Potter's, things would be quite different than they have been. I do not relish another year without my best friend.”

That last said so softly, that Harry was sure neither Barty nor Regulus could have heard.

“You will see me more often than you think next year,” Harry whispered just as softly. “Assuming he doesn’t tire of me first.”

Severus’ lips twitched. “I never thought that I would be hoping the Dark Lord keeps a lover for an indefinite period of time.”

Harry just laughed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t have time to post this morning before work! I will post the remaining four chapters twice a week, on Wed. and Sat. So after this week, only one more to go!

**~Once Upon a December~**

"How is your recruiting going?" Tom asked.

Harry hummed as he crossed the room to flop sideways into his accustomed chair before the Dark Lord's desk. His legs swung over the arm on one side, while his head rested on the other. He waved a hand negligently, and said, "I've gotten every interested student down to the first years involved with the Knights. The other sixth years are as ready as they will ever be for Easter. And I've been personally grooming one of the fifth years to take my place next year. There's really not much else for me to do, aside from the lessons for the Knights. We've had to cut the number of meetings, though. There have been a great number of rumors about there being students at the school who are already Death Eaters. Dumbledore is actually taking some of them seriously, so patrols have been boosted in an effort to catch us out."

Tom frowned, pausing in the midst of some document he was writing notes on. "Dumbledore is sniffing around?"

Harry shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. "Not personally. Mostly he's just sending the prefects on longer, more specified patrols. When they started paying especial attention to the dungeons, we agreed to meet in smaller groups and in different locations every time. None of the groups are meeting in the dungeons anymore."

"Good." Tom nodded, and returned to his paperwork. Harry opened his eyes a little to look at his lover. There was a little crease between Tom's eyes as he concentrated on what he was reading. Harry knew now that the more pronounced it became, the more tired the Dark Lord was--or the more irritated. As yet, it was a fairly relaxed expression.

Harry closed his eyes again and contemplated a nap. It really wasn't the most comfortable position for such things, but Tom was clearly too busy to talk. There was a question burning at the back of Harry's mind--one he had been dying to ask for more than a month. The opportune moment had yet to present itself.

"What is it?" Tom snapped. There was rustling sound, as though the document he was holding had been forcibly rolled shut with a spark of magic.

Harry sat up and stared at Tom. That little crease was quite defined now. It had been some time since Harry had upset Tom this badly. "I..."

"You've been dancing around for _weeks_ , Potter!" Tom growled, standing from behind the desk and coming round it to lean over Harry's chair. "What. Do. You. Want?"

Harry looked away, shame making a blush cover his face. He had ended up distracting Tom anyway, by _not_ speaking up when he had first thought of the problem. "I just wanted to know if we could spend Christmas together," Harry mumbled, not daring to look up.

He could hear the confusion in Tom's voice. "I thought we had already agreed that you would be spending Christmas break here."

To his horror, Harry felt tears pricking at his eyes. _Why was this so hard?_ "I meant...actual Christmas. With presents, and a tree, and just...being together," he finished lamely.

Tom snorted and returned to his seat behind the desk. "I don't do Christmas, Harry. It doesn't hold any fond memories for me. Quite the opposite, in fact."

It felt as though a hand reached into Harry's chest and squeezed his heart in a tight fist. "Christmas is the day we first met," he whispered. Then he stood, and left the office as quickly as he could without running. He thought he might have heard the Dark Lord curse as the door slipped closed behind him.

Harry retreated to his little office on the second floor. He sat in the stiff wooden chair by the desk, and opened the bottom drawer on the right. Inside were two tastefully wrapped gifts, in green and silver. He stared at them for a long moment, then shut the drawer with a sigh. He would probably never be able to give them to Tom. Not if the Dark Lord really hated Christmas that much. Harry hadn't even dared to ask about Tom's birthday, which he knew fell on New Year's Eve.

"One present for Christmas. One present for his birthday," Harry whispered to the empty room. He slumped over the desk and pillowed his head on his arms. _Why does love have to hurt so much?_ he asked himself.

Time passed, and Harry thought he must have drifted off for a while. He was awakened by the door opening softly, and he stiffened as he came fully awake.

"I...apologize," came the Dark Lord's voice. "I was not speaking of recent memories when I said that Christmas holds no meaning for me. I was thinking of my childhood."

Harry slowly sat up straight in the chair, but did not turn to face Tom. The Dark Lord had never spoken of his childhood, but Harry had wondered for some time now whether it had been as unhappy and unloved as his own.

"I grew up in an orphanage," Tom continued. "We never had Christmas, because there was never any money. The first time I ever saw a Christmas tree was at Hogwarts. I had no friends. I never received presents until after I was revealed as the Heir of Slytherin--and then, they were all empty gifts. Given in fear, or awe, or in expectation of something in return. And that has never changed.

"Until you," Tom said softly. "I don't know how to give you what you want, Harry. I don't even know if I want to try."

Harry sighed. He still didn't turn around. "What about your birthday? I suppose no one ever bothered to celebrate that, either?"

He had surprised Tom, he could tell without even seeing his lover. 

"I looked you up in the school records," Harry said. He twisted in the chair so he could lean on the back and look up at Tom, still standing near the doorway. "Your birthday is December 31st, isn't it?"

"Yes," Tom breathed. "No one ever bothered...no one ever knew..."

Harry rested his cheek against the smooth wood of the chair, and stared off into space. "I spent a long time thinking of what I wanted to get you, Tom. I..." he paused, then turned to the bottom drawer on the right side of the desk and pulled out the two packages wrapped in green and silver. "I got you two presents, one for Christmas, and one for your birthday." He turned to look up at Tom, who was staring at the presents with an almost vulnerable look on his face. "These aren't empty platitudes, Tom. These presents mean something to me, and I hope they will mean something to you. I don't need a Christmas tree, or decorations, or anything else. I just need you...to let me love you."

A confused expression crossed the Dark Lord's face as he stared into Harry's eyes. No words were needed for Harry to know what was wrong. He stood, and crossed the small space to stand in front of Tom, both hands reaching up to gently cup his face.

"You do deserve to be loved, Tom," Harry said firmly. "Even if you can't feel that love in return, you deserve to have it."

Harry's thumbs brushed across those pale cheeks and he could see Tom's surprise at the moisture on them. The Dark Lord reached up and touched his own face to feel the tears there, then stared at Harry in wonder.

"I love you," Harry whispered, leaning up to brush his lips across Tom's. He pulled back to see that Tom's eyes were closed, a pained expression on his face. "What is it?"

"It hurts," Tom said. "Your love hurts me."

Harry flinched, and let go of Tom as he backed away. He forgot how small the room was and backed right into his desk with a heavy thump.

"No," Tom said, moving quickly across the space to trap Harry against the edge of the desk. "It isn't your fault. It hurts more than anything I've ever felt before, but it also feels wonderful at the same time. I... _like_ it."

Harry laughed mirthlessly and rested his head against Tom's chest. "What did you do to yourself, Tom?" he whispered. "Why are your emotions so strange? So closed off?"

Now it was Tom who moved away, turning to lean against the doorframe. "I...can't trust you with that information. I'm sorry."

Harry huffed, with real humor this time. "Two apologies in one day. I must have broken some kind of record."

Tom half-turned his head, a smirk on his lips. "I cannot actually recall the last time I apologized to someone. I think you owe me."

Harry raised one eyebrow. "You can't trust me, and yet you want me." He shook his head. "Well then, my lord..." Harry stalked forward and fell gracefully to his knees before the Dark Lord. "How can I serve my master?"

Tom's eyes darkened immediately, and he reached out one long-fingered hand to grip Harry by the hair. He forcefully pulled until Harry's face was pressed against his crotch, the evidence of the Dark Lord's arousal quickly becoming apparent there.

Harry ran his tongue over the fabric-covered bulge, nuzzling his face against Tom's groin as he maintained eye contact. Tom tightened his grip with a growl, forcing Harry's head to remain still. Taking the hint, Harry ran his hands quickly up Tom's legs and reached out to undo the Dark Lord's belt and trousers, pulling them down just far enough to reveal his prize.

Tom tugged his hair once more, and Harry obliged by taking the length into his mouth, moaning as it hit the back of his throat, nearly making him gag. The fingers in his hair tightened painfully, and Harry felt Tom twitch and swell in his mouth. But he didn't move. Harry had a desperate desire to be used, and he knew the Dark Lord would oblige.

Reading the intent in Harry's eyes, Tom narrowed his own crimson orbs until they were mere slits glaring down at him. Then he pulled out, and slammed back into Harry's mouth and down his throat. Harry gagged, then tried to relax his throat around the intrusion with minimal success. Tom ignored his efforts and simply continued thrusting in and out with abandon. It didn’t take long for Harry to lose his gag reflex altogether, and he focused more on sucking and using his tongue to pleasure the Dark Lord.

The hand in his hair loosened its painful grip as Tom grew closer to the edge. “Harry…” Tom moaned.

Harry hummed when the hard length entered his throat again, and it drove the Dark Lord over the edge. He choked on the cum as it spurted into his mouth, then swallowed greedily.

Tom pulled his limp member out of Harry’s mouth, tucking it back into his pants as he stared down at his younger lover. That vulnerable expression was back in his crimson eyes.

Harry snaked his way back up Tom’s body and leaned in to steal a kiss. The Dark Lord granted him entrance and then turned the tables so that he was plundering Harry’s mouth instead. Harry gasped into the kiss when Tom’s hand gripped him around the waist and pressed him hard against the taller man. His own erection was now trapped between them with no friction to give him any pleasure.

Tom pulled his head away and stared down at Harry seriously. “I don’t want to hear any more talk of feelings for at least a couple of years, Harry.”

Harry gaped at him, his mind still swimming with lust, until the words sank in. “Two years? Do you think you’ll still want me by then?”

Tom chuckled, leaning down the suckle at Harry’s neck. There was almost always a mark there, and he enjoyed making sure it remained. “Harry, I normally have a lover for one or two nights and then move on. With you, it has already been almost five months. I call you here to have sex at least twice a week. If I was going to tire of you that easily, you would already know it.”

Harry felt Tom getting hard again and smiled. Still… “Two years is a long time, Tom,” he said.

“I know. All I ask is that you stop trying to get me to feel something.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest that he wasn’t trying to do that at all, but Tom cut him off.

“My emotions are closed off from me, Harry. When you start getting upset because I don’t have a normal reaction to things like spending Christmas with you, it physically hurts me. There’s nothing I can do about that just yet.”

“Yet?” Harry grasped onto that word like it was a lifeline.

Tom grimaced, his hands smoothing down Harry’s back to rest on his hips. “I do not know if something can actually be done about it. My research suggests that it’s possible, but I don’t know if _I_ am capable of it. It will take time.”

Harry nodded, leaning forward to rest his head on Tom’s shoulder. “I’ll try, then. Knowing that you’re trying as well will help.”

Tom sighed against his hair, one hand trailing lower to squeeze Harry’s arse. “Can we stop talking about _feelings_ now and move on to more pleasant things?”

“Yes,” Harry moaned.

Tom released him, opening the door and leading Harry a short way down the hall to the bedroom. Harry smiled softly at the action—going to the bedroom meant that Tom was done with his work and they would get to spend a good bit of time together making love.

Well, it was making love to Harry. He already knew it was just sex to Tom. But he was beginning to suspect that the Dark Lord was capable of feeling much more—or at least, he had been capable once. And he would be again. Harry was determined.

He lay naked on the soft down duvet of the bed, and watched as Tom slowly undressed and crawled up the bed to hover over him. This was all he needed. For now. 

Harry reached up both hands and pulled Tom down for a kiss as the Dark Lord brought him back to peak with all the skill the older man possessed.

And when Tom entered him without any preparation, Harry gasped at the familiar feeling of pleasured pain. And he vowed that no one would ever again receive this kind of attention from his lord. Voldemort, Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord; they all belonged to Harry Potter. Someday, he would make them whole. He would return Tom and Voldemort to one person, as they should have been.

**~This Isn’t How I Go~**

Harry spent the first day of his seventh year at Hogwarts in self-isolation. Severus had graduated and was now busily involved in the war, making potions for Lord Voldemort whenever needed. James and his friends were gone, so there was no one left for Harry to torment. Even worse, James and Lily had married that summer. He had seen the pictures in the Daily Prophet, because of course he hadn’t been invited, and they disgusted him. James had no right to look so happy with his mudblood bitch.

They had joined the war as well, if the rumors flying around were true. Dumbledore had created some kind of group to fight the Death Eaters, because the aurors were too tied up in bureaucratic nonsense to respond in time to all the emergencies.

Tom had stepped up the number of attacks on mudbloods and blood traitors that summer. The Death Eater ranks were starting to swell after Harry’s recruiting efforts at Hogwarts, and Lucius’ recruiting in the Ministry. They finally had an army of a size with the task at hand.

So Harry sat in a window seat near the top of the castle, and he stared out at the stars in quiet contemplation. He wished desperately that he were spending the night with Tom, but the Dark Lord had insisted that the first and last days of school were ones Harry needed to spend in the castle.

It hardly mattered if he was here or there, though. Harry sighed, and his breath frosted the cool glass of the window in moisture. Tom was incredibly busy with the war, and the increased use of dark magic had once more begun to change him. He was not cruel to Harry, but he was not as gentle as he had once been. Harry suspected that because he was not trying to evoke some feeling in the man, Lord Voldemort was reverting more quickly into his Dark Lord persona.

Drawing a heart in the fog-covered window, Harry silently shook his head. It didn’t make any sense. He had begun using dark magic more and more as the war stepped up, and it wasn’t changing _him_ to the same extent. 

Sighing again, Harry turned away from the windows and closed his eyes, running through the Occlumency exercises he had learned from Tom over the past few months. He compartmentalized all of the worries that were causing him to brood into a corner of his mind and set his subconscious to sorting them on its own.

When he opened his eyes again, only a few minutes had passed, but he felt ten times better. It really was a useful skill.

“Is something troubling you, Mr. Potter?” The voice spoke up out of the darkness, and Harry instantly tensed and leveled his wand in the direction the voice came from. His mind registered who it was before the Headmaster even emerged from the shadows.

Gulping, Harry hastily lowered his wand and looked back at the window. The heart he had drawn was gone with the rest of the steam, but a heart-shaped smear remained. “Not really, sir,” he answered finally.

“Love trouble?” Dumbledore asked, moving still closer. “I have heard a great number of rumors regarding your relationships in this castle. They suddenly stopped last year.”

Harry looked back up at the Headmaster, and double-checked his Occlumency barriers to make sure the old man couldn’t see into his thoughts. “I fell in love with someone who doesn’t love me back, that’s all, sir. It happened at the beginning of last year.”

“I see,” Dumbledore nodded genially and looked out the window beside Harry. “Isn’t it interesting how a great tragedy often brings about great joy? I was the same way at your age.”

Harry’s brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what the Headmaster was talking about. Then he realized that Dumbledore was talking about the deaths of his parents, and the subsequent relationship he had formed with Tom. 

“I would caution you, Harry,” Dumbledore continued. Harry started at the use of his first name. “If this person cannot love you back, they are probably not a very good person to become involved with. Love is something that all creatures are capable of feeling—someone who does not have that capability is not human. I would not even consider them a living being, were I you.”

 _He knows_ , Harry realized, staring up at the Headmaster with careful innocence on his face. “He…” his voice cracked and he struggled to continue, “He can feel love, Headmaster. He just doesn’t know what it is, or what to do with it, or how to return it.”

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully and started to turn away. “Be sure you are not simply deluding yourself, Harry. My office door is always open if you want to talk.”

Harry held his breath until he was sure the Headmaster was gone, then slumped against the window with his eyes closed. Subconsciously, his right hand moved to clutch his left arm over the dark mark.

“Tom…” Harry whispered. “What have you done to yourself?”

Whatever it was, he was sure that Dumbledore already knew, or at least suspected.

Perhaps he would get to see his lover tonight after all. He needed to let the Dark Lord know about this as soon as possible.

**~A Single Flower in the Snow~**

It happened in the middle of November. Harry was with Tom in Malfoy Manor, working on Legilimency just before a regular Death Eater meeting. A knock came at the door of the study they had borrowed, and Tom stopped in mid-lecture to say, “Enter.”

Lucius stepped into the room and bowed low, his eyes watching Harry curiously. It was a poorly kept secret that Harry was the Dark Lord’s lover.

“My lord, Severus has arrived and he says that he needs to speak with you urgently.”

Tom frowned and waved his hand. “Bring him in.”

Lucius bowed again and opened the door. A nervous Severus was standing outside, practically wringing his hands. Harry hadn’t seen his friend so out of sorts in many years.

“You may leave, Lucius,” Voldemort said. Lucius nodded and left.

Harry raised his wand to cast a privacy curtain without being asked.

“Report,” Voldemort ordered.

Severus bowed quickly and then quickly laid out the details of why he had come. “I have been spying on Dumbledore as you asked me to, my lord,” Severus began, “Earlier this evening he was interviewing a candidate for the Divination position at the school, because the current professor will be retiring at the end of this year. The candidate’s name is Sibyll Trelawney. The interview was being held in a private room at the Hog’s Head, so it was easy enough for me to listen in. I didn’t expect to gather anything of use, but then the woman began to speak a prophecy. Dumbleodre threw up a silencing too quickly for me to get it all, but what I heard was ‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him…born as the seventh month dies’.”

There was absolute silence in the study for several long minutes. Harry was horrified. Someone was coming who could or would kill Tom? He wouldn’t allow it! He would lay down his own life first, if he had to.

“Repeat it again,” Voldemort whispered.

Severus did. Harry began to decipher it now, and what he learned chilled him. A child would be born at the end of July, to parents who had somehow defied Tom three times and lived. If such a child were allowed to live to adulthood…

“Vanquished…” Tom murmured to himself. It was so soft no one but Harry could have heard it.

“What does it mean, my lord?” Severus asked anxiously.

“It means you must continue watching Dumbledore. Do everything you can to get the rest of the prophecy. Both of you keep an eye out for anyone that Dumbledore starts paying special attention to. If the child is born to pureblood parents, there will be an announcement in the Prophet. If it is born to the muggles…we will find out eventually.”

Both Harry and Severus nodded, and Tom dismissed the potions prodigy from the room.

Harry watched carefully and saw that Tom was genuinely worried about the prophecy. “What will you do?” he asked softly.

“I will kill the child before it becomes a threat,” Tom answered. “But I am not too worried—the phrasing, you see? Vanquished means that I might be defeated, but not killed. And it only says that the child will have the power, not that it will use it.”

Harry nodded slowly, an unsettled feeling blossoming in his stomach. He hoped it were that simple…but something told him a storm was coming that could not be avoided.

Two months later, he learned why: Lily Potter was pregnant.


	8. Chapter 8

**~I’m Not Ready for the Darkness; Swear Upon a Heartless Soul~**

Harry graduated, and the day after his nineteenth birthday, Neville James Potter was born. He was the only child to fulfill what little piece of the prophecy they knew. Another child may have been born at the right time, but Alice Longbottom had miscarried at three months.

After the child was born, it took a full year before the Death Eaters were able to find the Potter family. James—wisely, for once—had not returned to Potter Manor after his marriage. Only a select few people knew where the family had settled down, and Tom had been speculating for some time that Dumbledore must have hidden them with the Fidelius Charm. 

But the weak link was an old, long-exposed source of information: Peter Pettigrew. Tom sent him in to spy, not expecting much, and his reward was the rat animagus becoming the holder of the Fidelius spell. As Wormtail had proven time and again, he would gladly sacrifice his own friends if it meant saving his own skin.

They were not the only ones who could put two and two together—Severus came before Lord Voldemort and pleaded for Lily’s life. Harry was more than surprised when Tom acceded; there was nothing in it for the Dark Lord except the loyalty of one follower. Though he suspected that his friendship with the Potions’ Master may have influenced the decision.

Tom waited until Halloween night to attack. Harry was with him, the only Death Eater trusted enough to know the exact details of the plan, much less accompany Lord Voldemort on the raid.

Tom gave Harry the honor of killing James. It was so simple to kill off the last of his family; one spell to blast open the door, and one killing curse straight into the chest of a defenseless James Potter. He hadn’t even been able to get his wand properly in hand.

Harry had vaguely heard some yelling while he was killing his brother, and motioned toward the stairs, letting his Lord precede him.

At the top of the landing, they saw one closed door immediately to their left, while the others were open. Another blasting spell threw open the door to the nursery, and Harry entered behind Voldemort, green eyes gleaming with malicious intent.

“Not Neville, spare him, please!” Lily screeched entreatingly. She was standing in front of the crib in which a young babe was lying.

“Step aside, you silly woman!” Voldemort snarled. He was trying to spare the mudblood as Severus had asked, but Harry knew the man had little patience for these things.

“No, please, please! Spare my son!”

“I command you to step aside!”

“Not my son, take me! Take me instead!”

Harry snorted and flicked his wand, sending a _stupefy_ toward the woman, who crumpled to the floor in front of the crib.

“Now,” Voldemort said. He moved closer to the crib as Harry moved Lily out of the way. Staring down at the quiet, calm face of Neville Potter, his lips curled in a vicious sneer. “ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

Harry watched as if in slow motion as the jet of green light left the Dark Lord’s wand at point-blank range. A sudden bad feeling swamped him, but he wasn’t close enough to do anything. “NO! TOM!” he screamed.

The blinding green flash rebounded onto the Dark Lord somehow, and Tom screamed before his empty robes and wand fell to the ground with a quiet clatter.

Neville was screaming now, pudgy baby hands holding his forehead where it had apparently been hurt.

Harry was screaming too. He had been standing just behind the Dark Lord when it happened, and something of the killing curse must have passed through and hit him in the chest, just over his heart. He could feel a burning pain there that was only multiplied by the knowledge that Tom was gone. He was gone, and Harry had no idea how to bring him back. Tom was supposed to be immortal, wasn’t he? The Dark Lord couldn’t just _die_. Especially not at the hands of an infant.

Struggling to his feet, Harry lifted his wand to point it at Neville. He would _finish_ the job. “ _Avada kedavra!_ ” he yelled. The curse rebounded off of Neville’s forehead again, and Harry saw a strange lightning-bolt shaped wound in the center. He barely managed to dodge the rebounded curse in time.

Cursing, Harry swept over to the crib and lifted the squalling infant in his hands to study the mark on Neville's forehead. It was bleeding freely, and he could see that it was shaped like the rune sowilo--it was a protection rune that meant 'sun'. Lily had protected her son.

Dropping the baby back into the crib, roughly, Harry turned away to study Tom's robes. He picked up the wand as though it were a precious treasure, which to him it was. "I'll keep it safe, Tom," he whispered. The robes he left for the Aurors to find. Thinking of them made him realize that he didn't have much time. He studied the room.

Lily was still out cold on the floor, and Neville was crying hysterically in his crib. No one had to know that the boy had done anything remarkable. He could set things up to make it seem that James had died defending his family, and taken the Dark Lord with him. 

Stumbling from the room, Harry rubbed his chest absent-mindedly as he hovered James' dead body back up the stairs. Then he began to set the stage. He added a large number of cuts, scrapes, and welts to James' body, as well as a number of Dark curses and hexes that made him ache to feel Tom's magic again. Casting them made the spot on his chest tingle pleasantly, and he sighed as he relaxed for the first time since seeing the Dark Lord disappear. He took James' wand and cast the Killing Curse at the wall, then made sure that James had his wand in his hand, firmly grasped, before turning to survey Lily and Neville. 

Their separation wouldn't do. He opened a door in the room and found a closet, then levitated Lily inside to curl up in a corner. Neville he grabbed and pressed into her arms, trying to make the embrace look natural. The only redeeming quality was that Neville calmed and stopped screaming hysterically as soon as he felt his mother's arms around him. 

" _Obliviate._ " Harry said lazily, forcibly removing Lily's memories of the events and making it so that she wouldn't question his presence inside of a house formerly protected by the Fidelius Charm. A simple healing spell healed the cut on Neville's forehead, and he wiped away the blood. There wasn't even a scar left behind to mark the event. " _Reenervate_." Lily began to wake, her eyes blank and dazed like anyone who had been recently _Obliviated_. Pocketing his wand, Harry knelt in front of the woman and took her by the shoulders. This would be the performance of a lifetime. "Merlin!" he gasped. "Lily, what happened?"

She blinked, staring at him. "I don't....know...." her eyes cleared slightly and he waited for her to remember. She gasped, automatically sitting up straight and looking around. "The Dark Lord! James!"

Harry winced, turning his head away dramatically. "I'm sorry, Lily," he whispered.

"No! James!" Lily lunged past him, Neville still clutched in her arms, and Harry let her pass. She stopped short at the sight of James' body lying protectively in front of the door. He looked more than a little worse for wear after Harry's curses. Looking at him made Harry realize he had forgotten something important and he cast a Dark spell from his wand while Lily was distracted, removing the memory of what spells he had cast from his wand and replacing them with benign Light spells that he might have used to investigate the house.

"He's dead," Harry told her gently once he was done. Lily was sobbing over her husband's body, and Harry's lips twisted in disgust when his words only made her cry harder, clutching Neville like a lifeline.

"What am I going to do?" Lily wailed. "I can't raise a child by myself! I'm not ready!"

Harry looked at her in surprise. So, little Neville wasn't exactly 'planned', was he? "You won't be alone," Harry told her firmly. "You'll both live with me. I can help you take care of him."

Lily wiped some of her tears away with her sleeve and looked up at him hopefully. For a moment Harry felt as though he were looking at the innocent young girl whose virginity he had stolen in secret. But in the next moment, he remembered her treatment of Severus and any pity he might have felt disappeared like smoke. 

"Really?" Lily breathed.

"Really, truly," Harry said. "Let's get you out of here and wait for the Aurors."

"But, James..." she trailed off, gently touching the butchered face of her husband. "All right," she whispered.

Harry helped her to her feet and led her from the room. They made it downstairs not a moment too soon, for the Aurors burst in at that exact moment. Harry felt a thrill of fear go down his spine when they pointed their wands at him automatically.

But Lily was recovering herself enough to snap, "Stop that! He came to help us!"

Harry gave the Aurors a calculatedly nervous look, and they lowered their wands. Inside, he was cheering. Lily hadn't even questioned his presence there!

"James is..." Lily trailed off, fresh tears pouring down her cheeks. She turned to Harry unexpectedly and he found his arms full of crying mudblood, getting his best robes wet on one shoulder. But Harry folded his arms around her, as well as Neville, and looked to the Aurors.

"James is dead," he said, allowing the briefest touch of remorse to color his voice. A number of the men and women standing there paled and looked toward the stairs instinctively. "I think..." Harry hesitated just the perfect moment of time, then said, "I think he...killed...You-Know-Who."

Lily gasped, pulling back a little bit to stare at him. "There was no body..." she trailed off, realizing for the first time that there might not have been a body, but the Dark Lord was gone and she was still alive, as was her son.

"But You-Know-Who wasn't here when I arrived," Harry said. "And there was a pile of robes beside James that were smoking faintly. I don't know what he did, or how, but I'm sure that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead."

The Aurors rushed upstairs without another word, and Harry heard many gasps and exclamations. While they were occupied, he ushered Lily into one of the kitchen chairs and gently took Neville from her arms. The boy had fallen asleep, which Harry was grateful for. Given his prior treatment of the child, he was sure Neville would only cry when he held him. Instead of wringing the brat's neck like he wanted, he gently put Neville against his shoulder and bounced back and forth across the kitchen while Lily recovered herself.

"You're so good with him," Lily whispered. "James wouldn't let me invite you to the wedding, you know. Or to the naming ceremony for Neville. He insisted you were Dark. I wish he could see you now."  
Harry smiled down at Neville, saying, "I wish he could, too. He never liked me, Lily. None of my family did. I wasn't what they wanted."

Lily sniffled, but nodded. "I know. My sister had the same problem. I loved her dearly, but she could never get over the fact that I had magic and she didn't. After the summer before my seventh year when she destroyed all of my school things...." Lily shook her head, her mouth set. Then her eyes turned misty, and she wiped them with a handkerchief she had procured from somewhere while Harry hadn't been paying attention. "She has a son the same age as Neville," Lily gasped out. "I've never met him. She never even told me his name!"

She started to cry again, and Harry looked around for somewhere to lay Neville down, and spotted a bassinette just inside of the living room. He put the sleeping child down to rest and then returned to the kitchen, pulling over a chair and folding Lily into his arms again. "She still loves you," he whispered. "She just doesn't know how to handle you."

"How do you know?" Lily sobbed, only sounding half accusing. 

"Because James loved me," Harry whispered truthfully. "Deep down, he loved me. But our parents raised us both in such a way that he could never express it. I remember his face when I was sorted into Slytherin. He looked so betrayed. I couldn't understand why he cared, when he had never shown any care for me before. But now I know."

Lily's arms came around him, and he held her as she cried herself out, falling into a restless sleep just as one of the Aurors came downstairs again.

"The Dark Lord is dead," the man whispered. Harry recognized him belatedly as Frank Longbottom, whose son might have been a child of prophecy had it lived. "But his wand is missing. Did you see anything?"

Harry shook his head. "The house was under the Fidelius Charm. I don't know who the Secret Keeper was, but it's obvious that they betrayed James and Lily. I came as soon as I realized that I had remembered where the Potters lived. James didn't want me here, so I was never included in the secret."

Longbottom paled even further. "Merlin," he breathed. "Sirius Black was the Secret Keeper! I saw him not an hour ago, before the call came in."

As if on cue, a deep rumbling sound was heard outside--a sound Harry recognized as belonging to Black's magical motorcycle. Thinking quickly while Longbottom rushed outside to confront the other man, Harry drew his wand and stunned Lily once more so that she wouldn't wake up and ruin everything by defending Black. Then he picked her up and laid her on the couch in the living room before returning to the front of the house to peer outside at the show unfolding.

"Frank, what's wrong with you?" Black was saying. "Are James and Neville all right?"

Harry waited in anticipation, not really knowing if this would work or not.

"How dare you!?" Longbottom screamed. "James is dead, and you know it!"

"WHAT?" Black cried, an anguished expression coming onto his face before dawning realization came over him and a dark fury filled his frame. "THAT RAT!"

But it was too late for Black to go seeking revenge on the missing Pettigrew. " _Incarcerous!_ " Longbottom cried, and ropes materialized from his wand to wrap around the criminal, binding him at ankles, knees, and wrists and even gagging him before any more could be said. Inside the house, Harry did a minor victory dance in front of the window as the Auror proceeded to arrest his last remaining enemy--other than his nephew, of course.

Longbottom brought Black into the house and settled him beside the door. "Keep an eye on him, would you, Potter?" he asked. Then he went upstairs, presumably to fetch one or two of the others to help him bring Black in to the Auror Department.

Black’s eyes had widened comically at the sight of him, and muffled exclamations could be heard from behind the gag. But Harry kept an eye on him, all right. Just as soon as he had kicked Black in the balls a couple of times. After that the man was too busy whimpering to attempt to scream obscenities at Harry.

Longbottom came back down quickly, with another Auror in tow. They took custody of Black and left the Godric's Hollow property with a sharp crack of apparition. 

Harry decided to leave Lily stunned on the couch and went upstairs to see what the Aurors were up to. Neville was still sleeping, so it wasn't like he had any reason to stay downstairs. 

In the nursery, the Aurors were casting spells, trying to see if they could piece together what had happened.

"How is it going?" Harry asked.

"As well as can be expected," one of the female Aurors stated tiredly. James' body had been covered with a sheet and they were all stepping carefully around him as they worked. "This was quite the battle."

"Oh?" Harry asked.

So the Aurors explained what they had found out--Lily and Neville had been hidden in the closet while James turned to face the door and protect them. Voldemort had blasted the door off the hinges during his entrance, and they speculated that the splinters of wood had caused some of James' injuries. Then a great duel had taken place, with James taking hit after hit, but never giving up in his defense of his family. They pointed out the splash of the Killing Curse on the wall where Harry had aimed James' wand, and told Harry that it was from Voldemort, who must have taken so many hits by then that his aim had suffered for it. "The last spell in James' wand was _avada kedavra_ , the Auror finished solemnly. We don't know how he managed to hit You-Know-Who with it, but the result is clear. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is no more."

There was a long moment of silence in the room and Harry looked away, pretending to wipe misty eyes with his sleeve. Finally, he cleared his throat. "I should get Lily and Neville out of this house," he said softly. "It can't be safe, staying here. When the Death Eaters find out..."

"Yes, of course," one of them said, moving closer to him. "We'll just need to check your wand. You understand."

Harry nodded, and handed it over, then cursed silently. They would be able to see that his last spell had been stupefy.

The Auror checked the last ten spells or so, seeing nothing that could not be explained except for the very first spell that came out. "Was Lily getting hysterical?" she asked.

Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief, but fobbed it off as sadness. "She had finally cried herself to sleep, but then she woke up from a nightmare. I figured she could use the rest, so I stunned her."

The Auror nodded, handing back the wand. "Where will you take them?"

Harry couldn't believe his luck. "My own home. It's a small property outside Leicester. The address is 15 Snows Lane. I'll leave the floo open for you, if you need me."

"We appreciate it," she said.

Harry turned and left the room without looking back. If they had seen his face, they would have witnessed a malicious grin to rival even the Dark Lord's.

**~Holding My Breath, Last One I’ve Got Left Till I See You~ ******

Harry sat on the roof of his home--a gift to him from the Dark Lord when he graduated--and stared up at the stars. The autumn night was chilly, but he sat there bare-chested, only a thin pair of sleep pants clinging to his hips.

He wanted to be cold. It had been two weeks since the Dark Lord's disappearance, and there was still no sign of his lover.

Lily and Neville were settled into the house below him, sound asleep. He had debated about whether or not to just put Lily under the Imperius Curse rather than continue with his charade. But he hadn't had the will to do it yet. It was not that he cared about the mudblood—it was that he missed Tom too much. What was the point in continuing without Tom there by his side?

He had informed Severus that the Dark Lord had spared Lily's life, and invited his friend to come over whenever he wanted to see if, with James Potter out of the way, he could have the wench once and for all.

Several of the other Death Eaters had gone on a killing spree when they found out that Voldemort was 'dead'. Bellatrix and Barty had killed the Longbottoms the same night as the Potters—Harry didn't mourn them, because now there was no one who remembered that it was he who had reminded Frank of the Secret Keeper being Sirius Black. So now Bellatrix and Barty were in Azkaban along with a number of other Death Eaters who had been implicated on Halloween night. Sirius Black had been given the Dementor's Kiss, which only lifted Harry's spirits a very small amount. Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin had attended James' funeral, which Harry had paid for, and Lily had said her tearful goodbyes.

Dumbledore had attempted to enter Harry’s home within a day of the attack on Godric’s Hollow. Harry denied him entrance the first time by claiming that the family was in mourning. That didn’t stop Dumbledore the second time, though, because the man was smart enough to accompany the Aurors in his ‘official’ capacity as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. He spent about twenty minutes examining Neville with a puzzled expression on his face, then left and did not come back.

All of his affairs were settled and Harry finally had what he wanted in the form of all of the Potter wealth and properties, as well as the Lordship—but it was bittersweet. Neville was too young to be Lord Potter, but James had made it so that when the brat turned seventeen, he would regain control of the Potter birthright. Harry wouldn't have been worried about losing it, but he had tried multiple times to kill the child, and nothing seemed to work. The prophecy was clearly far more detailed than either he or Tom had believed.

Sighing, Harry lay back on the cold roof tiles and shivered. Was Tom really still out there somewhere? Had he really made himself immortal? Harry rubbed at the mark on his chest and reaffirmed his faith in his lover. When he had had a moment to breathe upon returning home, Harry had found that the mark over his heart was a tiny snake with the most minute of details depicting an eye and a forked tongue. It tended to move about over the area of skin where Harry had been struck by the residue of the Killing Curse. He had no idea what it was or why it had formed, but he welcomed it. It felt like Tom.

He would have to start making plans and working toward them soon. But for right now, all he wanted was to stare up at the stars and pretend that Tom was beside him in a rare moment of relaxation and camaraderie.

**~A Million Ways to be Cruel~**

"Where is she?" Severus asked, finding Harry in the first floor study after flooing in.

Harry looked up from the paperwork he was filling out and studied his friend. Severus was dressed very nicely in a new set of teaching robes. He had been hired for the position of Potions Master to take over for Slughorn, who was retiring at long last.

"Upstairs, with Neville," Harry answered.

Severus nodded, straightening his robes almost unconsciously as he looked toward the stairs. "I don't think this will work," he admitted softly.

Harry shrugged. "I've been toying with the idea of using _imperio_ on her. Feel free to do it yourself if you want her so badly."

Severus stiffened, but his eyes gleamed. Harry knew his friend well enough to know that the idea both disgusted and excited the other man.

"Perhaps I will try the conventional method first," he said drily.

"Perhaps," Harry said, lips twitching.

Severus swept up the stairs without another word, and Harry returned to his paperwork, though he kept his ears peeled for any sounds of yelling or violence. None ever came.

The Potions Master returned down the steps about an hour later, and Harry turned to him with his eyebrows raised. Severus was smiling.

"Sometimes," Severus said, pausing beside the door with a smug look, "I love being me."

"What did you do?" Harry asked, honestly curious to hear what Severus had come up with.

"A few potions, a bit of memory loss, and a _lot_ of _fun_ ," Severus said, nearly grinning. Then he turned away from Harry's study and left via the floo a few moments later.

Harry chuckled to himself and went upstairs to make sure that his sister-in-law was still sane and to make sure the brat wouldn't start crying while she was....recovering. He found Lily sprawled decadently on the bed in the room he had given her. She was nude and was sighing happily to herself with a smile on her face. Next door he found Neville in his crib with a localized sleeping charm that had Severus' signature on it.

Satisfied, Harry went back to his papers.

**~Hold My Heart~**

"Do you know anything about what the Dark Lord did to make himself immortal?" Harry asked without preamble when he entered Lucius' study in Malfoy Manor. His old friend was bouncing Draco on his knee and making uncouth baby noises in response to the child's cooing.

Lucius froze, much to Draco's displeasure, and then hurriedly called for a house elf to take the child away while he discussed 'business' with Harry.

"What are you talking about?" Lucius finally asked when they were alone.

Harry rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "Spare me, Lucius," he said drily. "Your reaction was more than enough to tell me you know something."

"But I don't!" Lucius protested, running a hand through his hair with uncharacteristic nervousness. "I would think that you would know, if any of us did. All I have is..."

Harry waited for the other Lord to continue, but Lucius' mouth seemed to be quite stubbornly shut. And Harry lost his patience. He was across the room in a heartbeat, one hand at Lucius' throat and his Dark magic pulsing around him like an aura. "TELL ME," he demanded.

Lucius' eyes widened and his knees clearly gave out. Harry was the only thing holding him up. "H-he gave me...a book!" he gasped out, hands clawing at the one Harry was holding to his throat. "I-It's in the l-library!"

Harry released him and stalked from the room, not even bothering to reign in his magic. He left behind a shocked Malfoy, who remained on his knees in his own study for quite some time.

Harry was quite familiar with the layout of Malfoy Manor and went straight to the library. With his magic whipping around him and pulsing slightly with its own darkness, he found it ridiculously easy to pinpoint the bit of Tom that he could feel in the room and arrowed in on the book after only a moment's pause.

It was a diary embossed with the name 'T.M. Riddle' on the cover. It was made of sturdy black leather, and had an aged and worn feeling to its pages. Harry stroked it gently and felt his magic calming around him. This felt like Tom. It _was_ Tom. As soon as he realized it, he went over to the nearest desk and sat down, opening to the first page. It was blank, as all of the other pages were, but that hardly mattered. Harry took up a quill and wrote on the first page: _'Tom?'_

There was a very, very long pause and he waited with bated breath to see if anything would happen. Just as he was about to give up, a familiar spidery hand appeared on the page as his own writing faded away. _'That is my name. What is yours?'_

_'Tom, it's me! It's Harry!'_

Another long pause followed this statement before more writing appeared. _'Of course, how silly of me. Hello, Harry.'_

_'Tom, what happened to you? Where are you?'_

_'I don't know what you mean. I've been here all along,'_ came the answer.

Harry sat back and stared at the book, not responding. Was it possible that this was not some kind of journal that he was writing to the Dark Lord through, but an actual _sentient_ diary of some sort?

He noticed that more writing had appeared on the page. _'Where are you?'_

_'I'm in Malfoy Manor, where this diary was being kept safe. You don't know who I am, do you?'_

Another long pause ensued before more words appeared. _'I'm afraid I do not.'_

Harry closed his eyes tightly and slumped in his chair, trying not to despair. If this was Tom, it was a part of Tom that had never met Harry. What kind of Dark magic could create something like this? He had never even heard of it! He didn't even know what to do. He needed Tom....

His eyes opened and he stared at the diary for a moment. He _had_ Tom. Tom was right here in front of him. It just wasn't _his_ Tom. He picked up his quill once more and prepared to write the entire story down.

_'My name is Harry Potter. I am the Dark Lord Voldemort's lover. Three weeks ago, I went with Lord Voldemort to attack the home of my brother, the former Lord Potter. I killed my brother, and then my Lord attempted to kill my one-year-old nephew. But the killing curse rebounded. I have since tried to kill the boy in multiple different ways, to no effect. There was a prophecy involved._

_'However, when the killing curse rebounded, it hit my Lord and he....'_

Harry dropped the quill, unable to continue. He watched the pages as the words disappeared and waited for Tom to respond.

 _'I see._ ' The scrawl appeared by itself for a moment before Tom continued. _'You are searching for a way to bring me—Voldemort—back to life?'_

 _'Yes!'_ Harry gasped the word aloud as he wrote it.

 _'Then I am at your service. I_ am _Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort. But I am his sixteen-year-old self. I can only assume from what you have told me that my older self is out there somewhere. We have to find him in order to bring him back to life.'_

_'How do I find him? I'll do anything.'_

_'A simple first year spell. Point me.'_

Harry could have laughed. He pulled out his wand and cast the spell, "Point me, Lord Voldemort." The wand spun in his hand and pointed at his heart. Harry touched his chest where the little snake was branded. What if Tom....

 _'Where did it point?'_ Tom asked impatiently.

His hand shook as he took up the quill. _'At me. It pointed at me.'_

There was a long silence. Harry closed the book before Tom could respond, and shoved it into his pocket. He wanted Tom—his Tom—desperately. But if Tom was _inside_ of him....

"I would give anything," Harry reminded himself. He would give anything, but he didn't want to die just so that Tom could live on without him.


	9. Chapter 9

**~Let Me Go, Let Me Out, This is Not My Choice~**

It took Harry until after his first Christmas with Lily and Neville to come to terms with the fact that Lord Voldemort was _inside of him_. He ignored the diary, locking it away securely in his desk until he knew what to do with it. 

It wasn’t until he found out, quite by accident, that having the Dark Lord inside him had given him certain other _gifts_ that he finally decided to confront the diary. He opened the book to the first page again and wrote, _‘I can speak to snakes.’_

Tom replied after a few minutes of making Harry stew. _‘That is hardly surprising.’_

Harry nodded, not really having expected anything else. He decided to forge ahead and asked, _‘Is there any way to bring Lord Voldemort back without my having to die?’_

The answer was swift: _‘Of course. Idiot.’_

Harry could almost imagine Tom saying that in the fond way he had, and it brought tears to his eyes. He had thought he was all cried out by now, especially after Tom’s birthday had come and passed without his lover there to celebrate it with him.

When he recovered, he wrote, _‘What do I have to do?’_

 _‘First,’_ Tom replied, _‘You must get the Death Eaters back under control. I would imagine they’re running amuck without me—him—there to control things.’_

 _‘I can’t do that, he’d kill me as soon as I revived him!’_ Harry protested.

_‘Nonsense. You’re going to prevent all of my—his—hard work from going down the drain. Here’s what you need to do…’_

Harry followed the diary’s every order to a ‘T’. And so it was that, on the thirtieth of April, exactly six months from the Dark Lord’s defeat, Harry stood in a field that Tom had frequently used for such gatherings. He pulled the sleeve back from his Dark Mark, pressed his wand to it and said, “ _Morsmordre_ ,” in Parseltongue while focusing through the Mark on each and every Death Eater who was not imprisoned, calling them to him.

It only took a few moments for the pops of apparition to begin arriving, and Harry smiled in amusement as several of the early comers fell to their knees, babbling, “My Lord”s left and right and generally making fools of themselves. 

Lucius and Severus arrived together, the only ones so far to come wearing their silver masks. Harry only knew them because he had learned to distinguish their masks from everyone else’s. When the pair saw him standing at the center of the field instead of the Dark Lord, they moved closer as if to speak to him. He halted them with a look.

They looked puzzled, even behind their masks, until they spotted Harry’s new…friend.

 _‘Can I go scare them, Master?’_ the ten-foot long black snake asked him.

 _‘Go on, Nagini,’_ he told her fondly, speaking loud enough that anyone standing nearby would hear him hissing in the snake tongue. _‘But do try not to poison anyone.’_

 _‘Yes, Master,’_ she hissed sullenly before darting quick as lightning into the gathering crowd of Death Eaters and playfully snapping at the heels of those cowardly enough to run from her. Harry was more than a little amused to see Wormtail backing away well before she reached his part of the field, then turn tail and run while transforming into his rat form. Harry didn’t even bother trying to stop Nagini from following her instincts and eating the man, though he wasn’t terribly disappointed when she missed. Peter Pettigrew’s disappearance would have been too hard to explain.

“Harry?” Severus whispered to him from quite close by.

Harry turned to his friend, unsurprised to see Lucius and Regulus and a few others of their school group nearby as well. Instead of answering their unspoken question, he whirled and motioned with his hand to cause a short platform to appear just behind him. He stepped onto it and motioned again to make it hover about a foot off the ground, easily allowing him to see over everyone’s heads.

He raised his wand—he was using Tom’s wand, with the diary’s permission—and fired a shower of green and silver sparks over the crowd gathered around him. “Silence!” he ordered.

The first mutinous cry was not surprising, but it was sooner than he had hoped. “Who do you think you are, Potter? Where’s the Dark Lord?” yelled someone who thought he was far enough back in the crowd to go unnoticed.

“What I think, Avery,” Harry snapped, wriggling his wand in the man’s direction and watching in satisfaction as he was drug forward by an invisible rope around his neck, “is that _I_ am the one who gathered you here, and if you want to know _anything_ you need to _shut up and listen_.” He released him with a flourish and then turned his attention back to the crowd in general. “You are here, because since the Dark Lord’s disappearance you have all gotten sloppy.”

“Disappearance?” Lucius interrupted, allowing his excitement to show in his voice and in the parts of his face Harry could see. “You think he’s alive?”

Harry knew the question was far more subtle: _“You spoke in the snake tongue, ergo…”_

“I am working on reviving the Dark Lord,” Harry said loudly, so everyone could hear. “He is not dead, but it will take several years before he can be resurrected. One of the sacrifices I need is not yet ready to be used in the ritual.” He grimaced, thinking of Neville. The boy had to be at least five years old for the ritual he had found in an ancient book from Tom’s library. He also had to begin displaying accidental magic, which he had not done yet. Harry did not think the boy was a squib, but he couldn’t take the chance that the ritual would fail. He only had one opportunity to make it work.

“Why should we believe you?” Avery snarled, making of himself a target again. All of the Death Eaters in his vicinity wisely backed away.

Harry calculated in his head the consequences of killing the man. He was unmarried, with a younger sister who had been in Severus’ year at Hogwarts. His family wouldn’t miss him too much, he hoped.

 _‘Nagini,’_ he hissed loudly, ignoring their gaps. _‘You may kill that one.’_

 _‘With pleasure, Master!’_ Nagini crowed from somewhere out in the field. The crowd of Death Eaters jostled, trying to see into the darkness for the giant snake they knew was out there somewhere. Nagini had continued trying to find Wormtail, not realizing that he had returned to human form and was in a part of the circle closer to Harry.

“W-what did you say?” Avery asked, spinning wildly in circles, his eyes wide as he looked for his death. “What did you ruddy well say, Potter!?”

“I told her to kill you,” Harry said calmly.

Avery turned on the spot, trying to apparate away, not realizing that Harry had discreetly cast an anti-apparition jinx over the area as soon as he decided to kill the man.

Nagini didn’t wait any longer to take her meal. She lunged out of the darkness, venom-filled teeth latching onto the arm that Avery rose to defend himself. He didn’t even have his wand out, the fool. Not that it would have mattered.

The watching Death Eaters backed well away from Avery and the snake, watching in awed horror as he became paler and paler by the second. In under a minute he was dead, staring up at the stars with empty eyes.

 _‘Can you butcher it please, Master?’_ Nagini asked petulantly. _‘I am not yet big enough to eat him whole.’_

“Of course, Nagini,” Harry said in English for the benefit of the crowd. He lowered the platform and stepped fearlessly across the clearing to the body before coolly amputating the arms, legs, and head and cutting the torso in half lengthwise after removing the man’s clothes. “Is that better?”

For answer, Nagini gave a delighted hiss and detached her jaw to take in one of the legs. Harry was fascinated at watching her scales bunch and stretch as the limb was forced into her body whole. It took only a minute or two for her to swallow it fully. He cast stasis charms on the remaining pieces and left them where they were. He would take them home with him as treats later.

Turning to the somewhat green circle of spectators, Harry slowly spun as he asked, “Are there any other objections?”

Dead silence was his reply.

“Good. I welcome your questions, but do not presume to imply that I would lie about such a thing as the Dark Lord’s return.”

“When will he be returning?” one Death Eater asked breathlessly.

Harry returned to his little platform above them before answering. “If everything goes to plan, on Halloween in three and a half years. If I am delayed, I will let you all know. I am now capable of calling you as the Dark Lord did, but I will refrain from such public gatherings if at all possible. We should all be lying low until his return.”

“How did you gain the ability to talk to snakes?” Severus asked with honest curiosity in his voice. The utter silence that followed his question showed that no one else had dared to ask.

Harry hesitated, touching the area over his heart. “I was there when the Dark Lord was defeated. I will leave it to him to tell you the tale when he returns, but I have become his vessel, of sorts. I know the Dark Lord is alive because I can feel him in my every waking moment. My ability to speak the snake tongue and to call you all through the Dark Mark is caused by this connection.”

There were murmurs of surprise and appreciation. Harry decided to end the meeting on that note, not feeling up to answering any other questions, and quite tired from keeping up the façade of confidence that he had been portraying. It was all going as the Tom in the diary had said it should. Now all he had to do was wait for Neville to grow up a little bit more.

**~Is There a Way I Can Find You?~**

Harry grimaced as he stared down at his five-year-old nephew, who was staring at his shoes and twisting his fingers around one another like they were a Cat’s Cradle.

“Still?” Harry growled.

Neville looked up at him through his lashes and slowly shook his head.

Lord Potter scoffed and started to turn away, then changed his mind. He pulled out his wand—his old holly wand, _not_ Lord Voldemort’s—and handed it to the child.

Neville stared at the length of wood in his hand like it might bite him.

“Well, give it a wave, boy!” Harry snapped, losing what little patience he had with the child.

Neville waved it half-heartedly, and nothing happened.

Harry snatched back his wand, whirling away from the child. Inside, his heart was breaking. “We’ll try again next year.”

**~Is There a Sign I Should Know?~**

He shoved six-year-old Neville off the end of the dock and the child fell two feet into the chilly black waters of the lake and did not resurface. Staring at the water, Harry wondered what would happen if he just let the boy drown. Would he really die, or would magic finally come to his rescue and save the boy of prophecy from drowning?

A shout behind him made him turn to see Lily breaking free from Severus’ hold and rushing toward him. “Where is Neville?” the mother asked breathlessly, studying the water.

Harry sighed and cast a summoning charm, pulling Neville back from the deeps. “I was trying to teach him how to swim,” he lied. The boy was left, gasping and sobbing, on the planks of the dock while Harry turned and left, disappointed once more.

“Is he…” Severus trailed off, not sure how to broach the subject.

Harry’s eyes clenched tightly. “He will be. He _has_ to be.”

Severus just nodded, choosing not to argue with the man who would resurrect the Dark Lord.

**~If I Could Be Close Beside You~**

_‘What do we do if he never shows any sign, Tom?’_ Harry asked. Before he could see the response, a knock sounded on the door. “Enter,” he sighed.

Neville came in, recently turned seven, and closed the door behind him. “Uncle Harry, I…”

“What is it, Neville?” Harry snapped, exhaustion clear in his voice. He was so tired of all this. He just wanted Tom back. The diary was his lifeline—the only thing to keep him sane—but it helped less and less the more time passed.

“I-I think I did m-magic,” Neville breathed. He had developed a stutter quite early on, probably due to Harry’s menacing attitude toward him. Harry could have cared less, except it made the child a pain to listen to.

Harry spun in his chair to stare hungrily at the boy. “Really? Tell me!”

Neville took an instinctive step back, and started with his shoe scuffing, finger twisting motions. “Mummy gave me a potion, and when I took it, steam came out of my ears.” He looked up through the fringe that now covered his forehead. “That was magic, right?”

A pepper-up potion. A _bloody pepper-up potion_! Harry turned away in disgust. “A _Muggle_ would have had steam coming out of their ears if they took that potion, brat. Now get out!”

There was the sound of Neville hastily grappling with the doorknob, and then the door opened and closed with a soft thump.

Harry bowed his head over his desk and blocked out the world with his arms. He couldn’t afford to hope anymore. It hurt too much.

**~If I Could Be Where You Are~**

It was Neville’s eighth birthday, and the day after Harry had turned twenty-seven, when Harry finally snapped. He found himself standing at a third floor window at the very top of his house, holding Neville by his ankles out the window.

“Uncle Harry, please!” the boy begged pitifully, tiny hands reaching up and attempting to grab hold of some part of his uncle to pull himself back inside.

“You’re nothing but a mistake,” Harry said viciously, shaking the boy dangerously. His hands slipped a little, but he could have cared less. “You’re nothing but a fucking squib!”

“No, no, please!” Neville sobbed. He had lost the strength to reach back up to Harry, and was now staring down at the ground with the blood rushing to his head. “I’ll do magic, I’ll be good!”

A pang went through Harry’s chest, and he released the boy’s ankles to touch the mark over his heart in wonder. “Tom?” he whispered.

Neville screamed as he fell, and then the most wonderful thing happened. As Harry watched, the idiot boy _bounced_ all the way down to the front gate.

**~If I Could Reach Out and Touch You~**

“Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!” Harry summoned a bone from the grave and motioned it toward the large cauldron he was working with. Regulus Black was submerged up to the shoulders in the potion Harry had prepared for the ritual, and was struggling feebly against his bonds as he watched Harry wide-eyed. As the liquid hissed and shot out sparks, turning an electric blue, Harry just smirked at him, relishing in the suffering of the traitor. If Tom had been around the past several years, Regulus never would have remained under the radar for so long.

Harry picked up a heavy silver knife, mentally preparing himself for the next step. “Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master!” He slashed the knife across his arm before he could think about it too much. His arm was lopped off cleanly, just below the elbow, and the piece of flesh fell into the cauldron beside Regulus, who had started to whimper and struggle frantically. Harry couldn’t help the scream that pierced him, barely noting the bright crimson color of the liquid in the cauldron now.

As swiftly as he was able, he stumbled to the headstone where he had tied up Neville’s prone form. The child was unconscious—Harry not having wanted to listen to the brat wail during the ritual—he took the knife still in his hand and slit Neville’s right wrist, dropping the knife and picking up a goblet he had left there for this purpose. When it was brimming with blood collected from the wound, he shuffled back to the cauldron to finish his task. “Blood of the enemy….forcibly taken….you will….resurrect your foe.”

The blood was tipped into the cauldron, and the liquid turned to a blinding white. Regulus’ whimpers became screams and Harry tipped sideways to watch, cradling the stump of his arm as he performed the last step. He reached inside of himself to that piece of Tom he could feel, and he _pushed_. It was like a physical exhale as Tom’s presence and magic and power left him in a rush, surging instead into the now silent form in the cauldron.

White sparks began shooting from the cauldron, brighter and brighter until he could barely look at it without being blinded. Then suddenly, the light became a surge of white steam billowing thickly up into the midnight air. Harry could see nothing, and waited with trepidation for some sign that it had worked. Some sign that Tom was coming back to him.

And then, through the mist, he saw the form of a man tall and strong rising from the depths of the cauldron.

“Harry?” came Tom’s familiar voice.

Harry sobbed, crying out incoherently at the sound of his lover’s voice after so long. The man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at him, before kneeling beside him completely nude and touching Harry’s wretched arm with gentle fingers.

“What have you done, Harry?” Tom asked, horror in his eyes.

“I brought you back,” Harry whispered, black motes beginning to float across his vision. “I’ve waited so long, Tom. I couldn’t bear it…”

“Shh…” Tom murmured. He plucked his wand from the pocket of Harry’s robe and waved it over Harry’s amputated limb. “Rest, Harry.”

Harry closed his eyes gratefully. The pain was gone, and Tom was back.

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

**~To Bring You Back Home~**

Harry flexed the fingers of his new left hand, marveling at the feat of magic that Tom had performed. It was seamlessly connected to what was left of his arm, flesh-colored for the most part, and matched the size and strength of his right hand exactly. The only difference was the stylized pattern of the veins running through it. They looked like vines, with small serpents hidden amongst the leaves and stems. Harry thought it was beautiful—it certainly _felt_ that way. It pulsed with Dark magic of a sort that he had come to associate with parseltongue spells.

Looking around his bedroom where he had awoken, Harry wondered where Tom had gotten to. As if the thought had summoned him, his lover walked through the door and stopped short at the sight of him sitting up in bed, awake.

“Harry,” Tom breathed.

There was a softer look to the man, as though his emotions were closer to the surface in his reborn body. Harry studied him, satisfied with what he saw. He had been afraid that, by using Regulus’ body as a golem, Tom would end up inhabiting the other man’s body instead of being truly reborn. There were hints, here and there, that this had once been Regulus Black’s body, but he was still black-haired, red-eyed Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was gorgeous, and Harry felt tears prick his eyes as he realized again that he had succeeded.

“Tom!” Harry cried, lifting his arms in an entreaty to the Dark Lord.

Tom swept across the room at once, folding Harry into an embrace and peppering soft kisses to every part of Harry that he could reach.

“I missed you,” Harry sobbed, clinging to him and inhaling the familiar scent of his lover. The man had clearly showered, using the same soaps and scents that he had always used. It was a comfort that almost made him forget the long years that had kept them apart.

“I would say the same, but I was with you the entire time,” Tom murmured, nuzzling his nose into Harry’s neck and inhaling deeply even as he pressed a kiss there. “I did miss this—being able to touch you, and hold you, and love you, and…”

Harry cut him off with a kiss, their breath mingling as lips and teeth and tongues clashed. He was pressed back into the bed, Tom’s comforting weight on top of him, and he ceased to care about the rest of the world entirely.

Clothing was sloughed off, their lips barely parting to make the effort, and their hands explored flesh wantonly, neither relenting for a moment. 

Tom prepared Harry gently in a way he never had before, and then pressed inside, coming home. They moved slowly, savoring every sensation. Harry kissed every part of Tom’s face and neck that he could reach, touched every quivering sweat-slicked muscle, and shared every gasped breath.

 _“Tom,”_ Harry hissed, not realizing that he was speaking in parseltongue. Tom gave a surprised grunt, pressing a little harder, moving a little faster. _“My Tom.”_

 _“Harry…”_ Tom groaned, pressing Harry’s knees back as far as they would go. The new angle tightened the wet heat around him, and he thrust more shallowly as Harry began to clench around him. 

Reaching a hand between them, Tom fisted his lover with erratic strokes, watching the deep green haze of lust clouding Harry’s eyes.

 _“Mine,”_ Tom growled, and they fell over the edge together.


	10. Chapter 10

**~Meeting You Wasn’t Fate~**

Harry sprawled sideways across the bed on his stomach. One arm was lying comfortably over Tom’s hip where he rested his chin while the other was lazily tracing patterns on the older man’s chest. They were both completely nude.

“How did you do it?” he finally asked. Tom raised an eyebrow at him, otherwise remaining as he was on his back with one arm pillowed beneath his head. Harry elaborated, “How did you make yourself immortal?”

Tom sighed, moving his free arm to capture Harry’s fingers where they still moved against his chest. “I did something unspeakable. Something I now regret a great deal.”

It was Harry’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Tom sat up and moved back until he was sitting against the headboard, and Harry moved to curl against his side. 

After a long moment of neither of them moving, Tom spoke again. “It is called a horcrux. By committing murder, a Dark wizard can split off a piece of his soul and place it in an object for safekeeping. The books I read dealt only in the making of one horcrux—one is all that is needed to obtain immortality as the soul will always be bound on Earth. Where I erred is in all of my self-important belief that I could do no wrong. I thought that if one horcrux could make me immortal, then I would need another just in case the first was discovered and destroyed. Then it occurred to me that two is not a very magical number, but three would do quite well. I had settled on three, to be honest. But after I made the first one, I felt so powerful, so amazing, that I thought making more would make me stronger. And the strongest magical number of all is seven.”

“ _Seven_?” Harry gasped in shock. “You made seven horcruxes? You _split your soul_ seven times?”

Tom nodded silently, his eyes closed.

Harry squeezed his lover tightly around the middle and buried his face in the crook of Tom’s neck. “You said you regret it. Is…is there any way to reverse it?”

Tom nodded again, then audibly swallowed. “I need your help, Harry.”

Harry looked up, his brilliant green eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Anything.”

“Thank you,” Tom whispered. He brought his left hand up to caress Harry’s face and then dipped down to brush their lips together. “First, we must collect them all.”

**~I Know it is One-Sided Love~**

Harry walked swiftly up the path from the gates of Hogwarts, hoping he could complete the purpose for his visit quickly without running into Dumbledore. Tom had sent him to retrieve one of his horcruxes, Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem, and he was all too aware of the dangers of retrieving it in broad daylight right under the Headmaster’s nose.

Entering the front doors, he glanced around. A few students passed through the front hall, shooting him curious looks before going on their way. Harry took the nearby staircase and followed the familiar paths of the castle up to the seventh floor. The room he was looking for was up there—perilously close to the Headmaster’s office.

Stalking through the seventh floor corridor, Harry passed the entrance to Gryffindor tower and started to look furtively at each of the paintings and tapestries he passed on his way. Tom told him he couldn’t miss it.

When he finally found the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, Harry had to agree. Glancing around, he quickly passed three times in front of the wall across from the tapestry, thinking that he would rather like to find a place to hide something.

A door appeared on the third pass and he entered quickly, only to stop in shock at the mess that greeted him inside. Towers of hidden items filled the room. Mazes of haphazard books, furniture, contraband, and broken items. Where was he supposed to find the diadem in this mess?

Pulling out his wand, Harry laid it across his hand and said, “Point me, Ravenclaw’s diadem.”

The wand spun slightly to the left, and he sighed in relief. At least the spell could give him some idea of where to start. He walked a little ways into the mess and tried the spell again. It pointed to the right. He went that way for a while, stopped and did it again. It pointed directly at himself.

Harry turned around and walked back the way he came until he came to a sort of intersection in the junk that he had passed a moment before. “Point me,” he repeated. His wand spun gently in a circle. Harry looked around, sure that he was in the right spot. A bust of some long-forgotten man caught his eye. A glittering headpiece was sitting on his brow like a crown.

Laughing, Harry plucked free the diadem and shivered at the feel of Tom’s magic in it. “Hello there,” he whispered. Pulling a box provided by Tom from his pocket, Harry tucked the diadem away in the Dark-dulling space inside. Now he just had to leave without Dumbledore noticing.

He retraced his steps to the door and stepped outside. But as soon as he entered the corridor beyond, he bumped almost physically into the last person he wanted to see.

“Headmaster,” Harry murmured, stepping back quickly. His hand brushed the box in his pocket self-consciously. He trusted Tom’s spells, but he still worried that the old fool might be able to feel the horcrux in his pocket.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said genially. He clasped his hands behind his back and smiled disarmingly. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen you. What brings you back to Hogwarts?”

Thinking quickly, Harry shrugged. “Just feeling nostalgic, I guess. Neville will be starting in a few years, and I just…well, I guess I just wanted to see how the old place looked after all this time.”

“Ah, yes,” Dumbledore chuckled. “How is your nephew? He’s what, eight or nine now?”

“Eight and a half,” Harry said, nodding. “He’s quite well, thank you.”

“He must be very nervous about starting school. Though I’m sure with his parents he’ll have no trouble.”

“Yes, well…” Harry grimaced, thinking about how long he had to wait for Neville to start showing signs of magic. “It did take quite some time before he started performing accidental magic. Even when I gave him my wand, nothing happened!”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows shot up, a slightly alarmed expression on his face. “Oh my!” One wrinkled old hand reached up to stroke his beard in what was clearly a nervous gesture. “Oh my…” he said again, clearly thinking to himself.

“He’s fine now, I assure you,” Harry hastened to say. He put just the right amount of nervousness in his voice—the epitome of the worried pureblood relative afraid their nephew was a squib.

“Oh, yes, I’m sure he will do quite well. After all, Lily is one of the brightest witches of her age. And James, well…he had more courage than anyone in the end.”

Harry nodded, looking away sadly. 

“I didn’t mean to keep you, my boy,” Dumbledore said jovially. “Please, continue with your self-guided tour.”

Harry nodded gratefully and moved to leave.

“Oh, Harry?” Dumbledore said, catching him in mid-step. Harry turned to look at the old man enquiringly. “How did your love story end up working out?”

Harry stiffened. Dumbledore had known, or so he thought, that Harry’s ‘love’ was Tom. To be asking now… “I’m afraid he passed away before I could find out,” Harry said softly.

Dumbledore’s face fell. “I apologize, Harry. I did not mean to pry.”

“It’s all right.” Harry shook his head. “I think, had he given me the chance, we could have been happy together. I think he could have loved me with enough help.”

Dumbledore nodded sagely. “Perhaps.”

“Good day, Headmaster,” Harry said.

“Good day, Harry.”

**~In This Endless Night, I Have Only One Wish~**

Harry studied the small collections of items in fascination. Tom had gone to retrieve one that was rather difficult to get to while Harry went to Hogwarts. Now the diary, the diadem, a heavy stone ring, and a golden cup sat on the desk in Tom’s study.

“You went to get two?” Harry asked, realizing that there were four rather than three sitting there.

“I gave one to Bellatrix for safekeeping, much like the diary was left to Lucius. I had her retrieve it from her vault in Gringotts while I fetched the ring.”

Harry picked up the ring, admiring the bisected circle inside of a triangle carved into the top. “All of your horcruxes have significance. Where did you get this one?”

Tom shifted uncomfortably where he sat behind the desk. “It is a family possession. My mother’s father’s ring.”

Harry smiled, slipping it onto his left ring finger and then admiring the effect. “I like it.”

Tom stared at him and at the ring on his finger before clearing his throat. “Perhaps that will be the one I keep, then. And you can guard the piece of my soul for me.”

Leaning across the desk, Harry kissed Tom gently. “I would like that. I was a bit miffed that you gave a piece of your _soul_ to Lucius, as well as Bellatrix, apparently. There aren’t any others kept by your Death Eaters, are there?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

Tom chuckled, pushing Harry back across the desk. “No, there are not. But I will need the help of some insignificant soul to retrieve the next one. I will take you with me to ensure nothing goes wrong, but we need a guinea pig.”

Harry frowned, not understanding why they needed an animal to fetch the horcrux. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Tom sighed, shaking his head as he stared at Harry. “Sometimes I forget you know next to nothing about muggles. It’s a phrase. It means we need a test subject. Someone disposable.”

Harry’s mouth opened in a small ‘o’. It took only a moment to think of the perfect person for the job. “Wormtail.”

Tom’s mouth contorted into a wicked grin. None of the Death Eaters were aware of his return yet. “Call him.”

**~They Slither While They Pass, They Slip Away~**

Tom raged around his large office in Riddle Manor while Harry stayed safely curled up in his favorite armchair in front of the fire. Occasional curses directed at Regulus Arcturus Black could be heard from the Dark Lord, spat in both English and Parseltongue. They had abandoned Wormtail to the inferi as soon as Voldemort discovered that the locket secreted away in the cave was not the same one he had left there.

But where could Regulus have taken the real one? There were only so many places that a Black could hide a secret. Tom was certain that the man could not have found a way to destroy it, as the means of destroying a horcrux were very few and far between—and not discussed in more than a handful of rare and expensive texts.

Add to that the fact that Black had to have had an accomplice, given the protections Tom had placed on the locket, and there were very few places that Harry could think to look for the thing.

For that matter…

“Tom?” he spoke at last, interrupting his lover mid-rant.

Voldemort—for he bore little resemblance to Tom Riddle just then—spun and slammed his hands down on the armrests of Harry’s chair to lean close and hiss menacingly in his face, “WHAT?”

“Who did you take with you when you put the locket in place?”

Voldemort spun away again and threw up his hands with a slight wave as though it were of no consequence. “A house elf.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. Tom didn’t own any house elves. “Whose house elf?”

“It was…” the older man turned to face him slowly, his eyes wide. “It was the Black elf.”

Harry nodded, uncurling his legs from the chair and standing. “I will pay a visit to Grimmauld Place. I am familiar with the house, and with the family. They will let me pass freely, and you cannot yet be seen.”

Tom hissed in irritation, continuing his pacing, but he did not object. “Bring the elf back with you,” he stated ominously.

Harry nodded, uncaring if Tom could see him or not. It was the obvious course of action, as far as he was concerned. Clearly the elf had betrayed the Dark Lord.

He left the manor quickly and apparated to Grimmauld Place, looking up from the little alley he appeared in to see Number 13 across the way. He remembered the elf from his days of being Regulus’ plaything. It was a miserly creature that took entirely too much delight in helping Regulus tie Harry up. Bringing it to the Dark Lord would be a sweet revenge.

He walked across the cobbled courtyard outside the house and rang the doorbell. A moment later, the very elf he was looking for opened the door and bowed him inside.

“How can Kreacher be of service, Lord Potter?” the elf asked, his nose touching the floor he was bent over so far.

“I wish to speak with the Lord or Lady of the house, if they are available,” Harry stated, not wanting to give the thing a chance to hide away the locket where it might never be found.

“The family is in mourning, and not up to seeing visitors.” Kreacher stated sadly. 

To Harry’s surprise, it was true sadness in the elf’s eyes as it straightened. It took him a long moment to think of who had died, and he had to stifle a grin as he realized they were mourning _Regulus_. Both sons dead. The Blacks were surely hurting without a male Heir to continue the line and all the daughters married off. The family was destined to be folded in with one of its pureblood brethren.

“I came to pay my respects,” Harry said, thinking quickly. “I was a good friend of Regulus’, and I was sorry to hear he had passed away. I thought…if the family is willing, I thought I might collect a token of Regulus’ to remember him by.”

The elf’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “Of course, Lord Potter. The family has set up a viewing in the green parlor, and the young master’s room is open to you. Take whatever you like, if it reminds you of Master Regulus.”

And then the elf _did ___burst into tears, popping away to hide his disgrace from the visitor. Harry hurried into the familiar confines of the green parlor and looked at the array of portraits and Hogwarts memorabilia with a sneer. Pulling out his wand, he laid it on his palm and performed the _point me_ spell for Slytherin’s locket. His wand spun to point at a tall mahogany cabinet standing in one corner and he could have laughed at his luck. 

It took only a simple _alohomora_ to open the lock, and a glance to find the ornate golden locket that Tom had described to him. Pocketing it, he locked the cabinet behind him and left the room to approach the front door.

“Kreacher!” he called. The elf popped in at once, its eyes red and puffy and a bit of snot wetting the end of his nose. Grimacing, Harry raised his wand and quickly cast a _stupefy_ at the unsuspecting house elf, then stepped outside onto the stoop where the wards ended. He apparated back to Riddle Manor and Tom’s expectant presence.

That evening the Blacks received back the head of their house elf to adorn the main staircase, with Lord Potter’s apologies. He arranged for one of the Potter elves to take Kreacher’s place, but the Blacks mourned for more than a son that night.

And on Tom’s desk in the manor, a collection of five objects shone in the candlelight.

**~Ready to Fly, You and I, Here We Go~**

Harry helped Tom to light the various colored candles for the ritual, traveling counter-clockwise inside the circle while his lover traveled clockwise around the outer edge. “What are the last two horcruxes?” he asked, giving in to his curiosity.

Tom had a smile in his voice when he answered. “I wondered when you were going to ask. The five we collected are those I intended to make. When I went to kill Neville I intended to use his death to create a sixth, and share my secret with you.” He paused to give Harry a fond look, which Harry returned whole-heartedly. “But a great many surprising things happened that night. I created not one, but two horcruxes entirely by accident. One, as you may imagine, is in Neville. The other is in you.”

Harry paused, raising his free hand to touch the warm mark over his heart. “I thought…when I brought you back…” He blinked, realizing something obvious. “The parseltongue!”

Tom chuckled, nodding. “I am loathe to take that one back, I confess. I leave it up to you. I want to give you one to wear on your person at all times, but that means I will actually have two horcruxes so long as you live.”

Harry lit the last candle and voiced a thought he had been considering since they started this endeavor. “If I make my own horcrux, I will live forever. We can be together, forever.”

There was absolute silence in the bare stone room in the basement of the manor. Only the slight spitting of the candles as the wax melted and was eaten away could be heard. Harry hesitated for a long moment, and then looked up at his lover across the circle. Tom’s eyes _shone_.

Feeling his breath catch in his throat, Harry swallowed hard. “I have the Potter signet. I found it in James’ things that night. If I made that my horcrux, would you…?”

Tom nodded firmly.

Harry’s breath left him in a rush, and he closed his eyes as a smile of pure joy lifted his lips. 

“Fetch Neville,” Tom whispered to him across the space. “He will die this night.”

Harry opened his eyes and smiled at his lover, then turned to go. It was the work of minutes to apparate to his home, steal Neville from his bed still asleep, and return to the manor. Tom was standing inside the circle now, tumbling the Gaunt ring over and over in his fingers as he waited. Harry carried his nephew into the circle and placed the boy with the other horcruxes. Then he looked up at Tom and froze as the older man took his left hand and slid the heavy stone ring over his ring finger.

“Keep it safe,” Tom whispered.

“Always,” Harry promised fiercely. 

He left the circle of candles and watched as Tom prepared himself for the ritual, stripping off his clothes and leaving them pooled at his feet. Then his lover picked up a simple silver athame and began carving runes into his own flesh. The blood was quickly spreading in a puddle around him as the symbols were carved up one arm, across his chest, and down the other. He went up each of his legs, across his stomach, and up the center of his chest.

When he judged that Tom was almost ready for him, Harry stripped off his own clothing and poured a jar of purified water over his head. When the last rune on the front of Tom’s body was carved into the flesh over his heart, Harry stepped over the line of candles. The moment he was safely inside the circle, the flames leaped two inches higher than they had been and stayed that way with an unnatural steadiness.

Tom handed him the athame and Harry bent to his part of the ritual; carving the runes into Tom’s back as well as the backs of his arms and legs. The sharp blade of the knife made the work easy and quick, and he admired Tom for not once crying out. There was at least a pint of two of blood beneath them now and he left bloody footprints as he moved around the circle.

He carved the final rune at the base of Tom’s spine, and backed away. Now he had to leave the circle and take the blade with him. The only things left in the circle were the bits of soul that Tom intended to absorb.

He sat on the cold stone of the ground, and hugged his knees to his chest. He ignored the blood coating him from the ankle down and splattered all across his arms, chest, and hands. He had eyes only for Tom. If even one thing went wrong, he might lose his lover to this ritual. Everything had to be perfect.

Tom began to chant. It was something like the spell that Harry had cast the night he brought back the Dark Lord, but much more complicated. Tom had to modulate his words and his magic to match the ritual. Too fast or too strong, and the spell would collapse—or worse, implode.

The chill of the floor kept Harry awake for most of the night as the Dark Lord chanted. About halfway through the ritual, the horcruxes began to glow. But around dawn, he could no longer keep his eyes open and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

He was awakened not by the end of the spell, but by a hand gently shaking his shoulder. Sitting bolt upright, Harry opened his eyes quickly to see Tom smiling at him where he knelt tiredly beside him.

“A bath, and sleep,” Tom croaked. “It is done.”

Harry smiled and helped his lover upstairs. It was done. Tom was whole again.

Behind them, forgotten on the unforgiving stone floor of the basement, lay the unmarked body of eight-year-old Neville James Potter. Now Harry was Lord Potter in more than name.

**~Sweet Surrender~**

Harry slipped the heavy Potter signet ring, and his horcrux, onto Tom’s ring finger and stroked the long-fingered hand as he held it in his own. “It’s hard to believe how far we’ve come,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Tom murmured, as those elegant hands twisted to capture Harry’s in their grasp. The Gaunt and Potter rings stood out against their pale flesh, an oddly fitting pair of rings for an oddly fitting couple. Tom touched Harry’s ring and leaned closer to whisper in his lover’s ear, “With this ring, I thee wed.”

Harry’s breath hitched as he listened to Tom whisper vows he had never hoped to hear. “To have, and to hold. In sickness, and in health. Till death do us part.” Tom paused here, then took a deep breath and plunged on. “I love you. For as long as we both shall live.”

And Harry repeated every word, his heart full, and his soul singing. There were no witnesses, nothing official to mark the occasion. But they weren’t needed; he and Tom had each other.

**~And It Goes Like This~**

Dumbledore stumbled toward the parapet on top of the astronomy tower at Hogwarts, his old face white as he held up one hand to ward off Harry and Tom alike. He was unarmed; disarmed before he could realize they were there, his wand spinning off into the darkness below the tower.

“Harry? What have you done?” the old man whispered.

Harry sneered. “I brought back the man I loved, Headmaster. Surely you knew who I was speaking of?”

Dumbledore looked at Tom in surprise, then his eyes narrowed. “You cannot possibly believe he could love you in return, Harry. He is merely deceiving you…”

“I LOVE HIM!” Tom roared at the top of his lungs. His eyes flashed red as he seized Harry’s left hand in his right. “Do not spill your poison into his ears, you old fool. You know nothing of what I am capable of feeling. Nothing— _no one_ —will ever take us from one another again. He. Is. _MINE_.”

Dumbledore seemed to be speechless. Harry raised his wand once more, and Tom’s joined him. “Goodbye, Headmaster. I hope you enjoy wherever you’re going. Say hello to my brother and parents, would you? I’m sure they’ll be able to commiserate with you, being killed by Harry Potter and all. Oh, and don’t forget about Neville. Poor lad.” Harry shook his head sadly for effect. “He didn’t know what hit him.”

“Neville is dead?” Dumbledore gasped.

“ _Avada kedavra_ ,” they said together. In a moment, the last great Light wizard was dead. There was nothing and no one to stop them now.

“Rather pitiful last words,” Tom groused. “Remind me not to ask too many questions when I die.”

“If I have anything to say about it, you’ll never have any last words, Tom,” Harry said drily. “Shall we?” He motioned toward the school behind them, still sleeping and unaware that its Headmaster was dead. Hogwarts today, the Ministry tomorrow. By the end of the week, Lord Voldemort would have the wizarding world in the palm of his hand.

And Harry would be there by his side, every step of the way.

Tom took his hand with a smile and a gentle squeeze. “Let’s.”

**~ _Fin_ ~**


End file.
